Moloch: Education
by mamfa
Summary: Second in the Moloch series, following 'Coincidences'. Frightened of what seems to be his fate, one young mutant is compelled to either live out the life of his father, or learn to exist as a part of society.


They're Marvel's. What's that? They're yours? I don't believe you. NARF! Toby's mine. Use him without   
permission, and I shall unleash the awesome power of my overwhelming stupidity upon thee. Yes, it's an ineffectual   
threat, folks!   
The title "Moloch," comes from early Israelite canon. Moloch was a brass god with a roaring furnace for a belly, in   
which children were sacrificed. Kinda fits, don't it, considering who Toby is?  
This is the second installation of the "Moloch" series. It follows immediately after "Coincidences."  
I thrive on feedback, (even if it isn't bloody well worth it) so indulge thy slaving Australian ffic writer and GIMME!  
I generally ignore flames, unless I'm off my medication. Thou hast been warned.   
Archive wiv permission. Yes, wiv. Go to hell, the lotta you. *huffs off in a huff*  
  
Moloch: Education  
Mamfa  
  
The arrival of Jubilee was a complicated affair. The X-Men all fought over the right to pick her up from the airport,   
and Logan actually threatened to take his bike if there was any unpleasantness. Toby rather thought any   
unpleasantness would come about at Logan's instigation, the way he was acting. That particular argument was   
rendered academic when Charles announced that the girl would be taking a taxi straight to the mansion. Otherwise,   
the entire mansion might have to be moved to meet her.  
Only one person, apart from Toby, assumed an indifferent attitude to the girl's arrival, and that was the member of   
the X-Men that Toby was not well acquainted with – the Morlock girl, Sarah. She had scowled at him once, before   
descending to her basement room. She didn't attend dinner, and she hadn't gone swimming. In fact, the only person   
she really talked to was Mister Remy. She avoided Storm like the plague.  
Toby himself was not so much indifferent to Jubilee's return, rather, he was apprehensive. He'd been warned, after   
all. Yet he affected an air of casual nonchalance about the whole debacle, saying very little. He didn't really think he   
was fooling anyone, the way he fidgeted, his hands twisting over each other, but it didn't hurt to try. He was actually   
rather grateful for the lack of attention.  
It was about ten o'clock when a taxi pulled up in front of the mansion, and a lithe girl of Asian appearance positively   
leaped out of the car to hurl herself into Mister Logan's arms and kiss him soundly on the forehead. She had a pair of   
glasses pushed up on her head and her black silky hair was cut short. She flew from person to person, hugging them   
and chattering non-stop about the plane trip, the changes in appearance, someone called 'Frosty,' and things of   
ridiculous unimportance. Toby got the feeling that Jubilee could talk without pause about absolutely nothing for   
hours.  
"Who's the shrimp?" she asked as she neared him.   
"His name's Mister Logan," he retorted cheekily, which set Kurt and Hank laughing. Jubilee raised an eyebrow, and   
he wrinkled his nose at her.  
"Kiddo, this smart-mouth ankle-biter is Toby. Toby, meet Jubilation Lee," said Logan with a mock-scowl at the boy.  
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Lee," said Toby automatically, sticking out his hand without thinking, then whipping it   
back, his eyes wide. Logan coughed to cover the boy's confusion.  
"What the hell was that, Wolvie?" asked Jubilee suspiciously. "I swear to bejesus I thought the kid had claws…"  
"That's cos he does," said Logan gently, taking Toby's wrist. Toby exercised the better part of valour rather than   
protest, as Logan spread the boy's fingers to show his surrogate daughter. "We got some idea of what kind of mutant   
he'll be."  
Toby looked at the girl, who was still eyeing his hands distrustfully, and decided to end this farce. "I got claws same   
as my pa," he announced in his piping voice. "But I never knew my pa."  
Jubilee cocked her head as she stared at the boy, taking in the ears, the teeth, and the shaggy flyaway blond mop with   
her eyes narrowed. Then they widened, and she turned to Logan in shock. "Wolvie! He's not…!"  
"He is," said Logan solemnly, before grinning. "Bit of a let-down, ain't it?"  
Jubilee's eyes returned to stare at the boy incredulously. "But… he's such a shrimp!"  
"He sure don't take after his dad, that's fer sure."  
"Something I'm very glad of," said Toby, a hint of steel in his eyes. Then he grinned amiably and put on his most   
harmless, mischievous expression, mentally hating himself for it. Did he really need to impress this chatterbox? "I   
must be such a disappointment to him."  
Jubilee held his gaze, before slowly grinning back. "You know any good practical jokes, kiddo?"  
He snorted. "I grew up in an orphanage. It's the only way to get back at anybody. They never caught me, neither," he   
added with a hint of pride.  
Bobby's eyes lit up. "Well, now, that's something we'll have to discuss…"  
Charles sighed.  
  
  
Jubilee hit the mansion like a neutron bomb. Suddenly, the placid old building was full of music and noise, and   
people had to plaster themselves against the wall as she bladed past, shouting "Gangway! Comin' through!" It   
seemed that every time Toby turned around, the girl was there, her head close to Iceman's as they plotted something   
suitably wicked, or curled up against Mister Logan's side, chewing bubblegum.   
"So what's the deal with the kid?" she asked Wolverine that evening, as the boy walked past the door, catching her   
eye.  
"His name's Toby, darlin'," he said with a mild note of reproach.  
She snorted. "His name's so important, then?"  
"Jubes, he didn't even have a name 'till he got here. I don't reckon he's entirely comfortable with it, an' so he's got   
to make it his." Logan scratched the side of his chin thoughtfully. "This is his third day here, an' he's still a fair bit   
confused."  
"So what's the deal with him bein' Creed's son?"  
That made Logan sigh. "He thought he was an orphan, Jubilee. He ran away from his orphanage because of a mutant   
hate gang who were goin' ta kill him last night. It was his claws that tipped us off as to who he was."  
"I'm surprised he's allowed to stay," she said a bit tartly. "Considerin'."  
"Darlin', did we really have any other choice? They were going to kill him. You should see his back – it's got 'die   
mutie' carved into it. His healin' factor ain't fully developed yet, an' so he's covered in scars which disappear slowly   
over weeks. Without that healin' factor, he'd be dead already." He looked down at her skeptical expression, and   
gently buffeted her shoulder. "Think about it, darlin'. Chuck's dream meant that we took in Rogue, Magneto, the   
Cajun, hell, even me – people with more than shady pasts. We even took in Creed himself. But Toby's just a   
confused little kid who doesn't know how to cope. He don't deserve to be blamed fer his father. Hell, he's never   
even met his father, but when he does, I'll wager Creed's in fer one hell of a beatin'."  
"He hates him that much?" Jubilee sounded surprised.  
"He asked me to teach him how to hurt him the most. That answer the question?"  
"His own father?"  
"Jubes, weren't you listening? He never knew his pa. His pa left him to be tortured an' cut an' frightened an'   
ultimately killed in that slum of an orphanage. I've checked it out – it's actually run by the mob as a breeding ground   
fer the new street hoods. Insane. Got no idea how the boy survived thirteen years o' that."  
Jubilee watched the boy rather carefully after her talk with Wolverine. He seemed cheerful enough, acting like any   
young active boy, and at times she was doubtful that he had lived through what Logan said he had. Then she would   
catch him sitting alone and in silence, an obscure look in his luminous blue eyes.  
  
  
"Hello?" came the somewhat irritated male voice.  
Toby carefully cradled the phone receiver against his ear. With his hands, he could easily shred the plastic and   
electrocute himself, which would be a total bummer. He'd be okay within a few hours, but they'd have to get a new   
phone, and he was feeling guilty about the amount of money spent on him already.  
"Hi there," he said aloud. "This is Toby, can I speak to Gabby?"  
A suspicious silence on the other side of the phone. Toby knew they must be wondering over his unnatural voice.   
"Where did you get this number, young man?"  
"I met Gabby at the mall yesterday, and I think I'll be going to her school. I just wanted to tell her that."  
"I'll tell her myself, Toby," said the man who must be Gabby's father curtly, before he was interrupted by a pert   
voice Toby remembered very well.  
"Oh no you won't, Father mine. Gimme that."  
"Gabrielle—"   
"Now, or I'll tell Mommy your secret."  
Mr. Marshall sighed and there was a brief silence before Gabby said smugly, "That got rid of him."  
Toby was nonplussed. "You talk like that to your Dad?"  
"He's my stepfather. My Daddy is dead," she said matter-of-factly, but Toby could detect the minimal tremor that   
betrayed a long, raw, wound.   
"I'm sorry," he said gently, and she sniffed.   
"S'okay. What were you gonna tell me?"  
He grinned, forgetting that she couldn't see him. "Guess who's going to your school?"  
A pause, and then she shrieked, "You're not!"  
"Uh huh!"  
"Oh, wow, this is gonna be so cool!" He could picture her, her glasses slipping down her snub nose in excitement,   
her eyes shining behind her glasses. "When do you start?"  
"Next Monday." He made a face. "I never got much school back at the orphanage, so I'll probably be back a few   
grades."  
"Ooh! What if you're in my class?" she squealed. "I bet everyone 'll think you're cool, with those nails and ears and   
voice and stuff."  
He winced. "Mm. Yeah. Anyway, another girl from where I live is gonna be going to the Senior High bit. Her   
name's Jubilation Lee."  
"Oh, right. She okay?"  
"She's nice. She's awful chatty though, but she plays good tricks." Toby grinned as he remembered exactly the effect   
one of Jubilee's and Iceman's pranks had elicited. Cable had been wired higher than a cat in a thunderstorm,   
prowling the mansion looking for the two culprits with his fourth-biggest gun in tow. That is to say, he had to carry it   
with the assistance of his telekinesis.  
"You got your uniform yet?"  
"No," he scowled. It hadn't been a particularly nice confrontation when the professor had informed Jubilee that at   
her new school, she was required to wear a regulation-length skirt and a blazer.   
"Don't worry. The boys' uniforms are heaps better than the girls'. Ours itch, 'specially if you're allergic to wool."  
He grinned at that. Gabby was allergic to just about everything – Lactose, bee stings, wool, homework, yeast – and   
she rattled off the list as if she were proud of it. "Yours made of nylon?"  
"Yep."  
He squinted up to the person approaching down the hall – it was Mister Scott, and he had a sudden idea. "Mister   
Scott," he said abruptly. "Is it okay if I go see a friend tommorrow?"  
Scott looked down at the boy on the phone, and smiled absently. "Why not ask them over, Toby?"  
His pointed ears went a little red. "I didn't want to…"  
"It's your home too, you know," said Scott pointedly. "Go ahead and ask them, but make sure they get permission."  
Toby's smile was like the sun coming up.  
  
  
Gabby was a little overawed by the regal woman's beauty, but Storm had offered to take Toby to pick her up, and he   
had accepted gratefully. Better Miss 'Roro than the daunting Mister Logan or the controversially featured Mister   
Hank. Storm smiled as the two children chatted companionably in the car, after the solemn twelve-year-old had   
conquered her nervousness. She pulled up outside the mansion, and the girl's eyes went very round.  
"You live here?" she accused Toby.   
"Yeah," he said nonchalantly. "The grounds are real big. Race you?"  
"No, not this time," she said warningly, but he had already torn off towards the front door. He really was built for   
speed, mused Storm, as Gabby walked sedately beside her, her little face annoyed by her friend's antics.  
"Beat you," he teased when she arrived.   
"I weren't racing," she sniffed.   
If she had been awed by the exterior of the mansion, she was truly flabbergasted by the interior, and not least by the   
occupants. Kurt, Hank and Cable had her gaping. Being introduced to Jean, Rogue and Betsy had her squirming with   
jealousy. The sight of Logan opening his beer with a claw almost had her running out of the room, so Toby exercised   
his discretion and led her outside, to sit on the verandah.   
"Is everybody here a mutant?" she asked him after he returned with lemonade.  
"Yeah," he said hesitantly. It wasn't like he didn't trust Gabby, but with a secret as big as the public identity of the   
mansion's occupants, he didn't really think he should tell her. She might let something slip.  
She digested that, her large thick-lashed eyes solemn. "Wow. Which ones are your parents?"  
That, unexpectedly, brought tears to Toby's eyes. "Orphan," he said, more forcefully than he had meant to.  
Her face was compassionate as she patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "I'm sorry…"  
"S'okay. Well, I'm not really an orphan, but my pa left me to die, and no-one knows what happened to my mom," he   
said quietly. "I want to kill my pa."  
She laughed then, a short bark. "I'll let you kill mine, if you want," she offered, half-jokingly, half deadly serious.   
"He's nasty. I want my real daddy back."  
Toby smiled wryly. "That's funny. I want mine as far away as possible."  
"Not really that funny, when you think about it."  
"No," he agreed. "Not really."  
The hand on his shoulder dropped abruptly, and Gabby sniffed. "How'd you get here?"  
"Runned away from the orphanage. They did the stuff to me I tole you about."  
Her eyes became filled with a kind of curious horror. "Can I.. see?"  
He shrugged. What was it to him? "Okay." He pulled off his shirt, and she gasped. "It doesn't hurt any more, though.   
It got better kind of quick." As it always does, he thought sourly. He traced one of the scars on his skinny chest   
lightly with a claw. "By week after next," he said, slowly, "should be all healed, but not gone."  
"Ready for school?"  
"Yeah, almost closed by the time I go to school. I reckon Mister Professor fixed it that way."  
"Smart," she said, running a cold hand over the writing on his back. The scabs were bumpy under her palm, and he   
shivered. "They feel strange."  
"That feels weird," he said accusingly.   
"Sorry," she said, not at all contrite. Her large eyes were artfully guileless, and he laughed at her contrived   
expression, pulling his arms back into his shirt.   
"You're terrible," he said, smiling.   
"I know. Shall we go play now?"  
  
  
Logan sat with his feet upon the window sill, a finished beer can beside him. The cigar smoke wafted and swirled   
hypnotically about his face, which gazed out at the two forms running about outside. "Jubes, Popsicle," he said   
abruptly, interrupting the burgeoning plot unraveling behind him, "Look at this."  
Jubilee came without question, but Bobby grumbled to himself before moving. But when he caught a look of what   
was going on outside, his face broke into a disbelieving grin. "I need a camera. My kingdom for a camera!"  
"He seems to attract the lookers, don't he?" commented Logan, and there was an unmistakable note of fatherly pride   
in his voice.  
  
  
"Gotcha again!" he laughed.  
She pouted. "No fair! You're a mutant boy, I'm a human girl. That's unfair times infinity!"  
He shrugged. "I know. But who are you going to complain about it to?"  
She scowled at that, pushing her glasses up her nose, before flinging herself down heavily to the soft grass. He sat   
down beside her, squinting up at the sun.  
"Does it really matter so much?" he asked hesitantly. "That I'm a mutant an' you're a human, I mean."  
She cocked her head. "I dunno. Not really, I suppose."  
He sighed. "I'm glad someone thinks so. I hope people at school think that way."  
She smiled smugly. "Even if they don't, I'm pretty sure I could convince them. Damn these things," she added   
scornfully, pulling off her heavy glasses altogether.   
He laughed. "I bet you're scary at school."  
"Yep," she said proudly. "I'm twice as smart as them an' they know it. I can make them feel this big…" she held her   
finger and thumb apart, "by simply yelling at them. And the teachers all like me way too much to believe that I can   
do it."  
"You'd be a great actress then," he grinned, and she nodded.  
"Way! I'm gonna be an politician when I grow up," she replied in satisfaction.  
"I thought you wanna be a mutant," he teased gently, and she gave him an amused look.  
"That too."  
They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, looking up at the sun in the cloudy sky, before her creeping   
fingers met his.  
  
  
"Guys! Guys! You gotta see this, it's so cute…" hollered Jubilee, disrupting Beast's carefully balanced experiment.   
He pursed his lips in genteel irritation, ready to give miss Jubilation Lee several pieces of his mind and bombard her   
with his vocabulary, when he found himself yanked by an unusually cold hand down the hall to the bay window in   
the library.   
"Robert, what is this all about…?" he managed, while Bobby, grinning, gestured out the window.  
Of course, what he saw lightened his spirits considerably, and he chuckled all the way back to his ruined experiment.  
  
  
She was holding his hand.  
This was not a situation he was prepared to deal with. Of all the responses he could think of, he couldn't imagine   
himself saying any of them. Umm, your hand seems to have slipped… You've accidentally… Umm… You're kinda   
holding my…  
She was sitting there, quite comfortable, with her hand in his.  
Wow.  
She didn't even seem to care about the jeopardy she was placing her fingers in.  
She sighed peaceably and leaned against his side.   
Oh boy… this is not happening, this is not happening… Oh my god it's happening!  
His arm rose, disentangling from her hand of its own volition, and settled around her shoulders. He could have   
imagined it, but a look of smug satisfaction seemed to cross her face. It was so fleeting, he decided it must have been   
his imagination.  
The silence was so big, so awfully big. He was strung tight as a bowstring, his nerves on edge, his senses a bit fuzzy.   
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.  
"Toby?"  
"Hmm?"  
"Would you like to kiss me?"  
  
  
"That is beyond cute," announced Jean to Rogue. Rogue's eyes were full of tears, and she dabbed absently at her   
eyes.  
"What's his head like, Jean?" asked Scott in amusement. "He looks a bit poleaxed."  
Jean's eyes unfocused, and then she chuckled. "Let's say he trying very, very desperately not to think right now.   
She's as determined as an arrow. That is one dangerous little minx."  
"I don't think I'd like to be in Toby's shoes, then," grinned Scott.  
"Ah thought you already were, sugah," retorted Rogue good-naturedly.   
"Yep. I think I was nearly as nervous as he looks."  
"An' Ah'll bet Jean was as determined as this little cat is, too. Oh, Toby, she's…!"  
"Uh oh. She's moving in for the kill," intoned Scott.  
"Do you mind?" asked his wife acidly.   
  
  
Oh my god oh my god oh my GOD…  
Toby was not, despite his rough and cruel upbringing, a stranger to this sort of thing. He was just entering puberty,   
and his awakening hormones had been suggesting certain things about the insanely stunning women in the mansion   
ever since he arrived. He was more than a little uncomfortable with this sort of thing actually happening, however.   
Suggestion had been okay, up till now…  
"Wtsgfl?" he managed to choke.  
She smiled mysteriously, and he noticed in shock that she was actually quite pretty without her glasses. Her eyes   
were very large and dark, and her chocolate-brown hair seemed almost alive as it spilled against his arm around her.   
"I'll take that as a yes, if you don't mind."  
He felt a sudden, overpowering urge to run away, all his instincts screaming at him, before her small mouth closed   
upon his. Oh my GOD!  
  
  
"We have ignition! We have touch-down! He strikes, he scores! It's a home run!"   
Bobby danced hand in hand with Jubilee, while Logan laughed, reaching for another beer. "She made all the moves,   
darlin'. She'll be a regular little vixen when she gets older."  
"What the flonq is going on in here?" demanded Cable, striding into the room. "The whole mansion has the flonqing   
giggles, and all the women are cooing like hungry pigeons."  
"Take a look, bub." Logan gestured expansively out the window. "We been watchin' a very determined young   
huntress wrap her prey around her little finger."  
Cable squinted out the window, and his iron-hard scowl cracked a little. Straightening, he said, "I see."  
"It's so cute!" squealed Jubilee, linking arms with Bobby again and doing a bubbly little jig. Nathan gave her a sour   
look, before his eyes widened.   
"Remind me to have a word with that boy about psychic shielding. He's practically shouting in my head right now."  
"What's he saying?" asked Bobby curiously, the exuberant Jubilee clutching his arm oblivious to anything but the   
mushy feeling inside.  
"'Help'?" suggested Logan.  
"Actually, it was more along the lines of 'This is so not happening,' and 'she tastes like lemonade,' with more than a   
dash of panic," said Cable slyly, before actually starting to laugh.   
  
  
Oh… wow…  
He was trying very hard to control the actions of his mouth. If his fangs got involved, then her tongue might be in   
some difficulty. However, she obviously had far different ideas, patrolling the inside of his mouth with reckless   
abandon. Her tongue nicked a fang, and the salty taste of blood mingled with the tart, cool lemonade. She ignored it,   
and continued her territorial perusal of his mouth.   
This is so not happening!  
His eyes slid shut. Okay, he told himself. Get a damn grip. Gabby is kissing you. You are kissing Gabby. There's a   
whole lot of kissing going on. With me. And Gabby. And… Gabby!  
She had brought up her hand to run it through his unruly hair, her nails dragging along his scalp. It felt so good! I   
think I could get used to this, as long as my heart rate slows down. He involuntarily let loose a little growl which   
echoed in her mouth, but it didn't seem to faze her. Emboldened, he slid his arms around her, bringing his palms into   
contact with the hair that swung down her back. Ooh, boy… that would be her hair. His claws dug into her back   
gently, making her shake a little. O-kay, that worked. Now what?  
She pulled away from his mouth and rested her head against his chest. He blinked a couple of times, trying to stop   
his reeling senses. Instinctively, he kissed the back of her neck gently, and she shivered. And THAT worked too!   
  
  
"He seems to have a certain natural talent," remarked Betsy clinically.   
"Dat boy, he startin' early, non?" Remy was grinning broadly.  
"Excuse me? I think it was her what made the first move," sniffed Marrow, earning her several scowls from the   
prouder X-Men clustered about the window.   
"Ah think it's beautiful," gushed Rogue, who was being patted on the back by a solicitous Kurt.  
"I think it's ridiculous," muttered Sarah, but she gave no indication of losing her front-row seat. She'd threatened   
enough people to get it, after all.  
"And I can't believe how mushy we are," commented Warren good-naturedly, indicating the dreamy-eyed Rogue,   
Jubilee and Jean. Almost as if on cue, all three sighed.  
"And she will be going to the same school as he? Mein Gott, that is one brave boy," murmured Kurt, rewarded by a   
few appreciative grins.   
"Suicidal, more like," added Bobby.  
"My X-Men, what is happening here?"  
"Take a look, Chuck. It's better than a movie."  
"…"  
"Chuck?"  
"It's okay, he's laughing."  
"Really."  
"Oh my… starting young, is he?"  
"That observation has been made, professor, yes."  
"Would you shut the flonq up? He's moving for… oh."  
There was a collective gasp. "Remy, have you been telling that boy things?"  
"Moi?"  
"He's not supposed to know… that."  
There was a gravelly chuckle from Logan. "Instinct is a wonderful thing, ain't it?"  
  
  
She sure went nuts when he nibbled on her ears, that's for sure.   
He was letting his senses guide him now. He knew if he started to think about what he was doing, he'd bail and bolt   
away as fast as his legs could carry him. And he knew for a fact she'd never be able to catch him. So he let that   
insistent instinct guide him, and it proved pretty infallible. He stored that away for future reference.   
He pulled away from her ear and looked at her face thoughtfully. Her eyes were fluttering and her mouth was slightly   
parted, her breath coming a little fast. His hearing could pick up her heartbeat – it was going almost as fast as his.   
No, faster. He kissed her forehead and then her mouth, deepening it slowly, innate guidance telling him to make it   
soft and languorous, before enfolding her in his arms in a big bear hug.  
She expelled her breath slowly. "You've had practice at that."  
"Nope. Instinct."  
"Really? Wow…"  
He decided it was his imagination again when she smiled that enigmatic smile once more.   
  
  
Gabby's mother picked her up at three. She was a bright, plump woman with the same eyes as her daughter, and she   
was very friendly and open with the young mutant boy who had caught Gabby's eye. And held it there.   
"Come on, darling. You've got an orthodontic appointment at four, you know. Hello there! You must be Toby.   
Gabrielle's told me all about you."  
"Hello, Mrs. Marshall," he said, embarrassed. He was sure his face was a fascinating shade of crimson.   
"Just Julie is fine, Toby. I hear you're coming to Gabrielle's school? Do you know what grade you'll be in?"  
He shook his head, his ears flaming. Julie was the perfect mother figure he had never known, and it made him flush   
even more when she was so kind to him.  
"Hurry, sweetheart. Well, it was nice meeting you, Toby. I know we'll be seeing more of you." She smiled gently,   
and he found himself smiling back, before Gabby squeezed his hand and jumped into her mother's car.   
"See you Monday!" she called as they pulled away.   
He found himself grinning rather foolishly and waving until they were at the end of the drive. Sighing, he made his   
way back to the mansion, picking up the used lemonade glasses from the porch. Stepping into the kitchen, he found   
almost every occupant of the mansion grinning knowingly at him. He dropped one of the glasses as his face blushed   
what he was sure was beetroot purple. Any more of this, he mused sourly, and blushing could become his new   
mutant power.   
"H-h.. Hi…" he managed.   
"Have a good time?" asked Gambit with a twinkle in his eyes.  
"Oh, I'd say he did," answered Bobby.  
"At least he seemed to," said Cable, grinning at the boy's squirming embarrassment. "Toby, I really have to talk to   
you about keeping your thoughts down."  
"Really, lemonade and blood?" added Jean.  
Toby fled.  
"That was priceless!" chortled Nathan.  
"You're a cruel man, Nate," accused Hank.   
"I know. It's one of the things which makes me so charming."  
  
  
Sunday flew by. Toby couldn't stand the grins on everyone's faces, or the way Gambit winked at him as they passed   
each other in the hall. Betsy had even given him some matter-of-fact advice about the nape of the neck and her   
fingers, and he'd torn from the room, blushing furiously. Was everyone around here this damn nosey?  
Yes. Yes, they are, his subconscious assured him, and he growled disconsolately. Great. Absolutely fantastic.   
Well, at least at school he and Gabby wouldn't have to endure all these gawking spies.  
That thought pulled him up short. School. He'd be going for a uniform fitting this afternoon – the school was like   
many in Salem Centre, exclusive and rich. Uniforms. Damn, damn, damn…  
Jean had taken him aside without a single smile or knowing look, and had taught him to erect a rudimentary psychic   
shield. He was rather proud of it, actually, and nervously enforced it every time he caught sight of Cable and his   
vindictive smirk. That man had it in for him, he was sure of it.   
He sat up straighter on his bed. Everyone was ribbing him because he was embarrassed. Well, then, he simply   
wouldn't be embarrassed any more. See how they like it to have their favourite entertainment taken away. Serves   
them right. Humph.   
Crossing his arms, he lay back down. His back didn't hurt at all. Healing factor, do your thing!   
School… he wasn't real happy about the entire prospect, except for the part about a certain dark-eyed minx and the   
invitation to do interesting and faintly naughty things with her. He'd be in the same grade as Gabby too, he'd found.   
She'd be thrilled at that. But he was a year older than her, and probably a bit taller than everyone else, despite being   
skinny and shrimpy for his age. Well, considering how tall his pa was, he'd grow later. Maybe. Probably.   
Hopefully…   
I hope I won't be picked on, he thought ruefully. His very obvious mutation and his background plus being older,   
however, meant that yes, he would most probably get picked on. But he was used to that and a lot harsher. Just sick   
of it. It'd be nice to go someplace with kids his own age and have them all like him, or at least not actively dislike   
him. That'd be great.   
"Sugah, you in here?"  
"Sure, miss Rogue. Time to go?"  
"Can't keep the tailor waitin' now, can we? Jubilee's in the car."  
He followed her out. This time however, although he blushed until his face burned, he returned Gambit's wink,   
grinned back at Bobby, and gave a saucy look (risking life and limb) at Cable, who rather looked like a dog whose   
favourite bone had been confiscated. He chuckled as he slid into the seat next to Rogue, Jubilee sitting petulantly in   
the back, and they gave him a strange look.  
"Somethin' funny, Tobster?"  
"Yes. Very," he said, still giggling. "But don't worry, it won't be that funny for long." Because Mister Cable's   
gonna shoot me, I know it!  
"Well, whatever works fer you, sugah."  
They pulled up outside the select tailor, who had a fit of aesthetic apoplexy when the little man saw Rogue.   
Evidently imagining that perfect figure in a creation of his own… or maybe not, thought Toby, amused. "Hello   
madam," he crooned, wringing his hands. "You are…?"  
"Here an' here only fer the kids' fittin', sir," she answered cheerfully. Toby imagined he could hear the dreams   
shattering as the little tailor's face fell. Jubilee was whisked away by a determined female tailor into another section   
of the store, and she gave them a despairing look as she was hauled away.   
"Ah yes… for the private school, right?" The tailor regarded Toby critically. "He is very thin, but I can see he will   
grow like a weed in about half a year. You'll need to come back then."  
"That's okay. We got the money," Rogue told him. The little man's eyes lit up at that.  
"Oh? Oh! Very well, we shall outfit him for here and now. Come here, lad."  
Toby trotted forth obediently, and a measuring tape materialized in the tailor's hand. It almost seemed to have a mind   
of its own as it whipped around him, the little man calling out sizes to his assistant, who produced clothing on cue.   
When he measured Toby's arm from the shoulder to the wrist, his eyes widened.  
"Good lord!" he choked. "Are those fake?"  
Toby blinked, and then sighed. "No sir," he said, holding up his claws, letting the full impact of his voice at close   
range unsettle the man. "They're not. They're real, much as I sometimes wish they wasn't."  
The tailor stared at the boy's face with something akin to horror, with a dash of pity added for good measure.   
"You're a…"  
"Mutant? Yes, sir." Toby refused to hang his head in shame about that fact however. He'd been ashamed of it far too   
long. "I'll need some gloves to go with the uniform, obviously. Thin ones with reinforced tips."  
"I'll… see what we can do, young sir." There was a kind of respect in the tailor's eyes. "How do you… cope?"  
"Badly," said Toby self-deprecatingly. "But it has its perks. I almost never need a knife or fork, y'see."  
"Naturally," said the tailor faintly. "I've… never met a mutant before."  
"Really?" Toby's engaging blue eyes twinkled then. "It's not all it's cracked up to be. Is that what I have to wear?"   
he nodded towards the pile of clothing the assistant had set up.  
"Yes, that's it… I'll see to those gloves…" the tailor scurried away to find some gloves he could get his unusual   
customer to try on.   
"Ah'm very proud of you, Toby," came Rogue's quiet voice.  
"Thank-you, miss Rogue. It didn't go half as bad as I thought it might," he answered, before stepping into the little   
change room.  
The uniform was actually rather nice. Navy blue pants and a white shirt, open, with black shoes and a navy blue   
blazer for winter. The school insignia was on the blazer. Looking at himself in the mirror, he wrinkled his nose.   
"Y' look very handsome, sugah."  
"I look like Santa Claus's lawyer," he retorted, which made her erupt into giggles.   
"The blazer is slightly too big, but that will accommodate the young sir's growth. Now, if you would…?" the tailor   
tentatively held out several pairs of navy gloves.  
"Oh. Right." Toby say down at the table the little man indicated, and the tape measure miraculously appeared again.   
It danced down his middle finger and down his longest claw, his thumb, and the tailor whistled lowly.  
"That one's over an inch and a quarter long," he said, a little awed.  
"That one's good to scratch my back," said Toby without thinking, which earned him a disapproving look from   
Rogue.  
"Ah thought you agreed not to scratch 'em, Toby," she said reprovingly.  
"I know, I know," he said hurriedly. "They're heaps better anyway, and they don't itch as much now."  
The tailor was giving them a curious look.  
Rogue sighed. "Old joke," she said wearily.   
"Not much of a joke," Toby said under his breath bitterly.  
Abruptly, Jubilee stormed into the room. She was wearing a rather nice navy blue skirt, with black low-heeled shoes,   
and a white button-up blouse. She looked like an attorney. "No way," she said flatly. "Like, there is no way this is   
going to happen. Satan will be going to work in a snow plough before this happens! How the hell did I get roped into   
this…?"  
"Miss Lee…?" called the assistant. Jubilee half sighed, half growled.  
"I swear, if this doesn't end soon, I'm going to paf someone," she threatened, before stalking out.   
"Well," said Rogue into the silence that followed. "Ah think she took that kinda well."  
After collecting their uniforms, they went out for ice-cream, mainly to placate the still fuming Jubilee. Rogue   
insisted the boy stay in his uniform. "Y' look so handsome, sugah," she wheedled. Finally because he didn't like to   
deny his Miss Rogue anything, he complied. I am such a pushover, he mused. First Gabby, an' now Miss Rogue.  
He discovered a drawback to his uniform almost immediately. Its unwanted side-effects included little old ladies   
calling him a 'dear' and a 'darling boy,' until he was almost as surly as Jubilee. His vanilla and chocolate cone   
however, brightened his mood. The chocolate was the exact colour of Gabby's skin, and the ice-cream gave him   
ideas he really shouldn't be thinking about at thirteen. He wisely decided not to share them.   
Jubilee was still ranting over her uniform. "…and could you see me blading in that thing? Shhyeah, right. And I   
don't…"  
"I think it looks nice," he interrupted blandly. "Very grown up."  
She blinked at him. "You wouldn't know, yours is okay…"  
"Yeah, but no-one's going to tell you that you look… ahem, 'a perfect little gentleman'," he said pointedly.  
"Oh. Okay then. Guess not." Heartened, she turned back to her sundae.   
  
  
"Yes?" The attendant was extraordinarily prim. Toby didn't much like the look of her.  
"Doctor Henry P. McCoy, here to see the Principal about our new student here," said Hank expansively, and she   
checked her timetable, looking almost offended when she saw that they had an appointment.   
"He'll see you," she said curtly. No, Toby decided, he didn't like her at all. They followed her to a heavy oaken door,   
and she rapped prissily. "Sir?"  
"Come in, Miss Tweed," came a resonant baritone, and the door swung inwards. Toby found himself in a beautiful   
study, nicer even than Mister Professor's. The man with the silvering black hair, weary eyes but ingratiating smile   
behind the desk stood and shook Mister Hank's hand. "Doctor McCoy, I assume?"  
"Precisely. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harding."   
"No, mine is the pleasure. I'm a particularly avid researcher in molecular bio-physics, and I must say, your   
reputation precedes you." Miss Tweed sniffed disapprovingly at their congenial reception, closing the door behind   
her.   
"Wretched thing that it is," said Hank warmly. "But this time, it helps rather than hinders."  
"Please, sit down. May I inquire as to what means you have taken to disguise your customary appearance, or will that   
be considered too forthright?"  
Hank sat down, cocking his head with a smile. "Not at all. I use a technological device called an image inducer –   
fairly complex circuitry but with a hologram projector, that is to be expected." Hank's hand lowered to the switch on   
his belt, and abruptly he was blue and furry again. Toby decided he liked the furry look better. The Principal looked   
a little startled, but not shocked. "It comes in fairly useful when needing to travel incognito, particularly when one's   
blue-furred face is exceedingly public." He turned the switch again, and the hologram-Hank reappeared.  
"Fascinating. The technology is purely Terran…?"  
And Toby then realized. Mr. Harding somehow knew that he lived with the X-Men, and was fine with it. More than   
fine even. He must have followed their exploits for years if he knew about their off-world trips.   
"Not entirely," smiled Hank. "You seem remarkably well informed about my endeavours, Mr. Harding."  
"It is Richard, please."  
"Hank. And this is Toby."  
"Pleased to meet you, Toby," said the man gravely, but a twinkle danced in his weary grey eyes. He held out his   
hand, and Toby shook it, just as gravely.  
"Likewise, sir," he said clearly. The man didn't even blink at his voice.  
Mr. Harding leaned back in his chair. "I have been an associate of your mentor, Charles Xavier, since we were at   
university together. His studies took him to genetic science, mine to pure physics, and neither of us have ended up   
where we expected. Still, we remain friends, and he keeps me tolerably well informed. It was he who asked if his two   
new charges could be enrolled at this school, and of course, I am delighted to have you both." He grinned, suddenly   
boyish. "If only for the fits of righteous indignation it will give the overly pampered parents of my students."  
Toby smiled rather shyly at that, and Hank laughed out loud. "Our other student, Jubilation Lee, will be joining us   
later in the day."  
"Perfectly fine. I understand there are some… other claims on her time?" he stated delicately, and Hank nodded.   
"Precisely. She will probably be late often, knowing the girl as I do, and I can also assure you that most of the time   
she will have a proper reason."  
Toby understood. She had Danger Room duty every morning, as well as the various battles she might be asked to   
participate in. Add in the fact that Jubilee wasn't a morning person in any sense of the word, and he truly pitied   
anyone who stood in her way.   
"And this young man?" Mr. Harding indicated Toby, and Hank smiled.  
"Not yet. Not until he learns a little more. He's extraordinarily gifted, however, and not even I can figure out to what   
extent his mutation will develop."  
Mr. Harding gave the boy a reassuring smile. "And what might your gifts be, Toby?"  
Toby felt a little silly, but he answered as composed as he could, pulling off one glove. "Augmented hearing,   
eyesight and smell, a healing factor, speed and agility, and these," he held up his bare hand, and Mr. Harding did   
blink this time.  
"Ah yes… Charles informed me of…those, but I had no idea they were so…"  
"Sharp?" said Toby sadly. "Long? Dangerous? Don't worry sir. I'll be wearing gloves at school."  
"Well, it's not standard school uniform, but I think an exception is in order here," said Mr. Harding with a smile.   
"I'll inform the staff."  
"Thank-you sir." Toby pulled his glove back on. He could see where Rogue got her bitterness all right.  
"Don't fret so, young man," said the principal softly and reassuringly. "I will not let anyone here hold it against   
you."  
Toby decided he could trust this man. Mister professor obviously did. "Yes, sir."  
Mr. Harding's eyes rose. "Hank, I will take good care of the boy. Tell Charles not to worry. Toby, you are to come   
straight to me if you have any trouble whatsoever. Understood?"  
"Absolutely, sir. And thank-you."  
"That goes for Jubilation as well," added the principal, standing and leading them from his study. "Miss Tweed?   
Cancel all other appointments for this morning, except for nine thirty, Miss Lee, Jubilation. I am going to show this   
young man to his classes."  
"Yes sir." Her tone was respectful enough, but she shot a look of pure spite at Toby.  
"Horrible woman, but she's the best secretary I've ever had," Mr. Harding commented once they were out of   
hearing.   
Toby's opinion of this man rose even higher.  
Hank left at nine to go pick up Jubilee, while Mr. Harding showed the boy around the school. The man seemed to   
take a boyish pleasure in showing off his admittedly beautiful establishment. Toby met teacher after teacher, and Mr.   
Harding had a small, quiet talk with them, explaining this student's particular case. He endured a lot of frank,   
appraising stares from the waiting students, and a couple of flirtatious smiles that made him blush. The music   
teacher, Miss Chappell, went utterly crazy over his voice, and kept asking if he could sing. Honestly, he didn't know,   
but he promised he'd try.  
It was the math teacher that gave him the chilliest reception apart from Miss Tweed's. His name was Mr. Thompson,   
and he was a tall, balding man with a florid face. He stared down at Toby like he was some hitherto undiscovered   
species of bug. And when Mr. Harding took him aside to fill him in on those little details that Toby found so   
distasteful, Mr. Thompson's head whipped towards him, taking in his gloves and ears, and his eyes narrowed. It was   
like someone pouring ice down Toby's neck, and he realized dolefully that math was not going to be particularly   
enjoyable. At all.  
At nine twenty-five, Mr. Harding checked his watch. "All right, Toby, I'll have to leave it here. You have your   
timetable?"  
Toby held it up. "Yes, sir."  
"Good. Your form is in science right now, and that's where I'll have to leave you. I have to meet Miss Lee at nine   
thirty, you know."  
Toby grimaced at the thought of being left alone to face this… mountain of hostility he sensed, but he nodded.   
"Hang in there, son," said Harding sympathetically, as they rounded a corner. The sharp tang of chemicals hit his   
nose, and Toby winced. Harding led the way into a school laboratory, filled with children his own age. The short,   
near-sighted teacher squinted behind his glasses as Harding entered. "Good morning, Arthur. Good morning class."  
"Good morning, Mr. Harding!" they chorused, and Toby caught Gabby's eye. She was grinning furiously.  
"This is a new student to your year, Toby Creed. I want you to be as welcoming as I know you can be." That put a bit   
of starch into their spines. "Toby, take a seat. I'll speak with Mr. Penfold briefly."  
Toby walked over to the fiercely gesturing Gabby, and took the seat next her, while Harding and Penfold had their   
obligatory little 'chat'. "Hey!" he said softly to her.  
"Hiya! I can't believe you got to be in our year!" her eyes shone behind her glasses. "This is gonna be great!"  
Looking at the indifferent, curious or openly hostile faces around him, Toby wasn't so sure.  
  
  
Recess came too slowly, and was over too quick. Gabby introduced him to a redheaded rascal called Tom, who had   
as wicked a sense of humour as Gabby herself. His gap-toothed smile and innocent green eyes were not nearly as   
convincing, however. He also met a quiet little girl called Susie, who had blonder hair than he did and pretty grey-  
blue eyes. Tom, Susie, Gabby and he automatically became a little group against the hostile feelings directed at   
Toby.  
"I'm never going to fit in here," he sighed, noting the glares he was getting from a large group not far away.  
"Hmm? Oh them," snorted Tom. "That's the popular Group, the prettiest and the richest, y'know. They reckon   
they're God's gift." Toby could hear the capital letter tinkling into place.  
Almost as if talking about them had summoned their attentions, a heavy-set boy of about fourteen separated himself   
from the Group and started walking towards them. Immediately, two large boys and a girl with make-up on her too-  
young face joined him. This boy was the leader, Toby's instincts informed him. Thanks very much, as if I didn't   
know!  
"Hi," drawled the heavy-set boy. His hair was dark and his square face vindictive as he stared at them. "I'm Luke   
Lightner. This is Joe Waldi, Jim Hefner and Vanessa Schaeffer. You'd be…?"  
"Toby Creed," answered Toby blandly. The last thing he could do was fight, especially with his famous Creed   
temper.  
"Noticed you're hanging with the mouth, the dweeb an' the moron," said Luke distantly, buffing his fingernails. Joe   
(or was it Jim?) cracked their knuckles. "Why would you want to do that?"  
Toby was nonplussed. "They're my friends," he said blankly. "Is there a reason I shouldn't?"  
Luke ignored that. "Also noticed your freaky voice and those ears. And why do you wear gloves at school? They're   
not part of the uniform. I reckon you're a mutie."  
"Wow, well done. And I thought you'd have taken longer than that to figure it out," said Toby encouragingly. "Silly   
me. Guess I thought you were as dumb as you look." Luke was fuming now. "As for why I wear gloves?" Toby   
yanked one off. "Because as you can see, my hands are pretty dangerous, even to me."  
All four of their would-be tormentors stared at his hand in horror. Toby grinned, letting them see his fangs. "Oh   
yeah, did I forget to mention the fact that my dad's a psychopathic insane mass-murdering killing thing?" he said   
sweetly, and they fled.   
"That was great!" exulted Tom, and Susie smiled shyly.  
"That felt great," Toby announced. "Recess is on me. I want food."  
"Hell yeah!" crowed Tom. "Did you see that dumb lug's face?"  
Susie was inspecting Toby's bare hand thoughtfully. "Is all that true?" she asked in her quiet lisp.  
He sobered quickly as they walked towards the cafeteria. "Yeah. Including the bit about my dad."  
She examined his face. "I'm sorry."  
"Don't be. I'm going to get him back for leaving me in that orphanage one day. Do the world a favour." His hand   
clenched until his claws were cutting through his palms. Gabby took his hand and gently, the anger and resentment   
faded even as the minor cut healed. "So who was that Lightner guy?"  
Tom snorted. "He's the ringleader of the Group. His dad owns an oil company in Texas – richer than richer than…   
really rich. He's a bastard."  
"Yeah," said Gabby vehemently. "But he's never decided to tangle with me before."  
Toby looked at her curiously, and Tom explained. "Gabs here is the champion of the underdog at school. She's   
practically helped out everyone. That means, apart from havin' a wicked tongue on her, she's got more support than   
the Group. Everyone hates the Group, but there's way more of us than there is of them, an' even shy little Suz here   
will fight for Gabs. Right, kiddo?"  
"Uh huh," she said softly, but Toby could detect the determination in her voice.  
Gabby smiled at the small girl. "Susie, that's so nice…"  
Toby disentangled his hand as they approached the counter, and slipped on his glove again. "No use advertising," he   
explained. "Okay… Mister Hank gave me enough money for the whole school to eat today, so what do you want?"  
Tom ate even more than Toby did, but he seemed fascinated by Toby's method. In fact, most of the school had heard   
of the Group's 'incident' with the new mutant boy, and were coming over either to stare or offer him congratulations   
and a quick chat.   
This might not actually be so bad, thought Toby, shredding his food neatly, before a shadow cast over his handiwork.  
"So, a mutie at the school, hey?" a whiny tenor sneered. "Equal opportunities for non-human freaks and decent folks   
to have an education. Don't even eat like a civilized being, do you?"  
Spoke too soon.  
"Hello, sir," he said dully, his hands dropping to the table. His thumb-claw accidentally gouged into the wood, and   
he winced. Mr. Thompson, the math teacher, circled around to stand in front of the boy.  
"Hello me nothing, freak," he hissed. "I want even less than nothing to do with you, and if I can find a reason to   
expel you, or convince that fool Harding to get rid of you, I will. Understood?"  
A dim memory broke. "Capiche, sir."  
"Don't smart mouth me, you…" he noticed his audience, and he straightened his tie and stalked off. All eyes in the   
dining hall swung back to Toby, whose face was wooden.  
I'm not going to cry. And I won't explode. I've lived through heaps worse than that. I'm NOT going to cry here, in   
front of all these people…  
"Toby?" It was Gabby, her face worried, as she touched his arm lightly. He shook off his stasis, his face still   
carefully expressionless, as he re-started shredding his ham.   
"It's okay, Gabby," he said, his voice rigidly controlled. "I've lived through much worse."  
"How do you stand it?" it was a boy he didn't know, a black-haired Asian boy sitting at the table behind him.  
"Practice." Toby took a deep breath. "It doesn't make it any easier, though."  
"Andrew Zhang," said the boy sticking out his hand, then whipping it back, swallowing. Toby smiled.  
"I'm Toby Creed. And these won't hurt you if I don't let them. Which I never, ever will. They're covered in ham   
anyway."  
"They're actually very fun," said Gabby slyly, and Toby blushed beet red. Andrew laughed, and re-stuck out his   
hand.  
"Okay, I'll take your word for it. Pleased to meet you, Toby."  
Toby took his hand carefully. There was an indrawn breath around the whole cafeteria. "Same here, Andrew."  
And with that, Andy Zhang became part of their little gang.  
  
  
Music was next. The music teacher, Miss Chappell, went cuckoo over him again and insisted on calling him   
'Tobias', saying it was a far more melodic name. Toby felt he had a permanent scowl plastered on his face… until   
she organised them into groups to sing a haunting round-robin.   
Jerusalem… oh that thou hadst known, in these thy days, those things which were hidden from thine eyes…  
It was like the opening of a door which had been shut inside his head all these years. He found himself singing lustily   
along with Tom, who had a clear sweet soprano, and his multiple voices sprang into a bizarre life of their own,   
creating harmonies and counter-melodies like he had never imagined existed. By the time Miss Chappell called a   
halt, there were tears standing in her kind little eyes.  
"Oh my…" she reached automatically for the tissues. "My dear Tobias…"  
"Are you all right, miss?" enquired Susie softly.  
"I am… I will be fine, Susan. Tobias, how long have you been able to…?"  
"I don't know," he said, bemused. "It just happened, just then."  
Tom grabbed the overwrought little lady a chair. "Thank you, Thomas… oh my…"  
Luke shot Toby an evil glare, which he ignored. "We got ourselves a mutant songbird, guys," he spat to his cohorts,   
not knowing that Toby could hear him.  
"I'd rather be a mutant songbird than a spoiled arsehole," said Toby mildly over his shoulder, leaving Luke to   
splutter over that.  
Gabby was a little overawed as well. "That was beautiful, Toby," she said gently.  
"Thanks, but I really have no idea how I did it." Toby scratched at his chin with one gloved hand. "I don't even   
know if I could do it again."  
Miss Chappell's eyes refocused. "Would you try?"  
"Sure, miss. Will I sing the same song?"  
Her eyes narrowed, and she cocked her head. "Do you know any others?"  
Toby thought about it. The songs he knew could be counted on the claws of one hand. "A couple."  
"Then… why not try?"  
Why not, indeed? He took a deep breath…  
And the harmony was back, catching him and lifting him up in its eddying swirl of joy and pain and love and so   
much sadness, it was like Gabby's hands in his hair, and Miss Rogue's all-encompassing smile, and Mister Logan's   
harsh, spare honour, and Mister professor's bittersweet unattainable dream, and Miss 'Roro's warm rain against his   
cheek, mingling with so many tears, happy and sad or both… the intensity of the emotion sweeping him up, up from   
the orphanage grounds, from the hindering treetops to the sun which called him, beckoned him, welcomed him home   
as a mother does her son…  
His breath faltered, and he stopped, coming out of his near trance, and was astonished to see tears standing in almost   
every eye in the room. "Whoa…"  
"What.. what was that song, Toby?" asked Gabby, the tears spilling down her cheeks as she clung to his arm.  
"I… can't remember." And he couldn't. For him, the time when he had been singing was filled only with the   
memory of the emotions that had run wild through him.   
"It was an old refrain of an Irish ballad," said Miss Chappell hoarsely. "But with so many variations, so many   
harmonies…"  
"I don't know how I did it," repeated Toby, a little more than lost for words now.  
Miss Chappell seemed to pull herself together. "That… you… Class is dismissed. You have ten minutes until your   
next class. Good day, children. And… thank you, Tobias."  
"You're welcome," he said automatically, thoroughly bemused.  
  
  
It was Logan on his bike who picked them up. Jubilee was chattering enthusiastically about her day – Toby knew   
that with her effervescent nature she had encountered no trouble, and had probably made friends with her entire year   
in one day. People from his classes stared at his strange companion who sat unperturbed against his bike, smoking.   
Mister Logan looked beyond competent – he looked dangerous and downright scary at times. Toby knew this would   
be added to the gossip already buzzing about him… 'Did you see the guy who picked up Toby Creed? Yeah, the new   
mutie boy…'  
"An' how was your day, Toby?" asked Logan when Jubilee had paused to take a breath.  
"Okay," he replied after carefully considering it. "Could have been better, could have been much, much worse."  
"Anyone give you any trouble?"  
"Couple of people. I scared the school bully off," he added with satisfaction.  
"That's my boy. C'mon. I think I've had enough of bein' stared at. How 'bout you?" Logan swung one leg over his   
bike, Jubilee in front of him. Toby scrambled on behind.  
"Oh, yeah," he agreed fervently.  
Everyone back at home exclaimed when he told them about his voices going all independent on him. "It was weird…   
and it felt great…" he said, his expression mystified. Jean, Scott, Logan, Jubilee, Cable, Ororo, Betsy, Rogue, Bobby   
and Hank were sprawled in the rec room, listening to the boy after Jubilee's torrential tirade about her day.   
"Do you remember what you sang?" asked Jean, and he shook his head.  
"I just made the decision to sing, and from then on, all I could do was feel…" he stared at her helplessly.  
"Would you… try it again? For us?" asked Rogue gently, and he swallowed.  
"Any excuse is just fine," he told her, his blue eyes round and wondering, before taking a deep breath…  
And it was back. The faces before him, all telling their stories, all bare and open like pages in a book…   
His voices were hoarse, and the echoes died. Once again, he realized, he had reduced his audience to tears… and   
then his nose informed him that his audience was somewhat larger than he'd expected. Whipping his head around, he   
saw Kurt, Warren, Remy, the professor, and astonishingly, Sarah. Tears had streaked down her face unashamedly as   
she gazed at him with an unspoken plea in her eyes.  
"Beyond remarkable," whispered Charles. "You have given us a great gift tonight, Toby."  
Toby nodded slowly at him, before taking the Morlock girl's hand. "Sarah?"  
Her eyes hadn't left him.  
He hummed slightly, and nodded. She wants to be loved, so, so badly… "I know," he said simply. "Me, too."  
With a low cry, Marrow pulled the boy close and finally, finally let go and cried upon his shoulder.  
  
  
"It seems to be an empathetic power," mused Hank distantly after the boy had gone to bed.  
"I could feel his mind," said Jean softly. "It is empathetic, but in a peculiar way, both directed inwardly and   
externally."  
Charles nodded slowly. "I also felt something of that nature. But I also sensed that the power has a physical side as   
well as a mental side, and that they compliment each other."  
"How did he… know?" asked Bobby, softly. It seemed that Toby's performance had shaken him especially hard.  
Charles furrowed his brow. "He is able to detect the emotions he evokes in his audience, and that extends to their   
personalities, greatest strengths and bitterest tragedies."  
"I want to hear it again," said Remy under his breath, and in her corner Marrow nodded violently. She hadn't said   
anything since actually breaking down in the boy's arms, while he whispered that he knew, that it was okay to be   
frightened. After all, he was terrified. Her eyes still burned. Someone understood. And accepted, no less. No   
judgement, no condescension.  
"We all do," murmured Kurt. "I felt as if I were flying into the light…"  
"Yeah, that's right! Up into the light. It was so warm… an' she would look after me…" said Jubilee, her eyes   
unfocused.  
"She?" said Ororo, her head snapping to look at Jubilee, who looked confused.  
"Did I say she?"  
Storm stood slowly. "Toby.. feels a certain bond with the sun. It was a mother substitute that smiled down on him   
and accepted him where he had no-one. I feel that his emotions must somehow affect ours when he sings…"  
Jean looked surprised and her eyes were full of pity. "The sun was his mother?"  
"Mon dieu…"   
"You said it, Gumbo."  
"What about this physical side to his voice, Charles?" asked Hank after a poignant silence. He turned to the sun… no   
wonder he watches the sunrise each morning…  
"It seems to control the emotive responses of any living creature. Technically, he could make anybody do or think   
anything he wanted, by manipulating their emotions. Sort of like musical telepathy, only he cannot hear precise   
thoughts," said Charles slowly, his eyes thoughtful. "Of course, the power is untapped and unrealized, perhaps for   
some time to come."  
"That is… very frightening, professor," said Betsy softly.  
"Very," he agreed.  
"Wait a tic, Chuck. Where did Toby get this… power? After all, Creed ain't ever had any musicality to speak of,"   
said Logan, his cigar poised half-way towards his mouth. Jubilee had claimed his side again, her expression still   
brimming with emotion.  
"Perhaps… his mother?" said Charles thoughtfully, turning to Hank. The blue-furred scientist looked dubious.  
"Perhaps. I will analyze his blood sample again, examining the X-factor inherited from both parents. All I know is,   
his mother was not a woman we were acquainted with."  
"They are extraordinary powers he has inherited," murmured Scott. They were the first words he had said since   
Toby's 'performance.' "Potential for disaster, maybe. Sabretooth's killing rage, broadcast through an empathic   
voice."  
"That is assuming Toby has inherited something as fleeting as a personality trait, Scott," said Jean with some   
asperity. "Toby seems an unusually amiable boy. I really don't think…"  
"He's right, Jeannie," interrupted Logan. "Remember how he feels about his father? Who's to say what'll happen?"  
"He's not the animal Victor Creed is, Logan! I thought you, of all people…"  
"Never said he was," he said mildly. "But I ain't taking chances. I reckon we better take the boy aside fer a few   
hours per week an' show him what he can do with those powers of his, before they get the better of him."  
Jean subsided reluctantly.   
"Plus, I did promise the boy," he added, a slight grin on his face.  
  
  
Toby arrived early at school the next day, Jubilee taking the bus with him. She made it there before him on her   
blades, which looked distinctly strange with her demure skirt and pristine white shirt. Toby sat in the grounds staring   
up at the sunlight through the trees, humming softly under his breath. The resonant chorus of his voices was   
incredibly reassuring, for some reason, and he surrounded himself in the sound. The sun ran warm fingers through   
his hair as he sat in companionable silence with himself.  
His solitude was interrupted by heavy footsteps. "Hey, mutie."  
Toby's eyes didn't move from the sky. "Did you want something?"  
"…yeah…"  
Now Toby looked at his visitor. It was Jim, (or was it Joe?) the 'bodyguard' type that shadowed Luke Lightner. His   
face was screwed up in indecision. "What was it you were after?"  
Joe (or Jim) sat down next to the smaller boy. "I just wanted to… y'know, apologize…"  
"Really?"  
"Yeah… for yesterday. Luke isn't usually that much of a screaming bastard, and I just didn't like it, the way he was   
treating you… he isn't usually that bad, y'know."  
Toby studied (maybe) Jim's face, taking in the honest expression and the sincere eyes without the encumbrance of   
too much intelligence. This was a boy who thought the best of his friends without exception. "Look, Jim…"  
"It's Joe."  
"Sorry. Joe. It's okay. I'm really, really used to that sort of bigotry. And a lot worse. But thank you anyway."  
"Worse? Like what?" Joe's big honest face was horrified at the thought of worse than Luke's callous and insulting   
behaviour. Add 'sheltered' to that list of character traits, thought Toby sourly.  
"I grew up in an orphanage in central New York, in the middle of what was practically a slum. The older boys knew   
that I healed really fast, so their favorite game was to beat me up, and watch the cuts heal slowly." Toby rubbed his   
back wryly. "I'm still covered in scars. They even wrote 'die mutie' across my back. That was when I ran away."  
Joe looked like he was going to be sick. "You're… lying…"  
"Am I?" Toby pulled up his shirt, exposing his still-scarred chest. Most of them had puckered and healed, a few were   
still an angry red. He turned around to show the writing across his shoulder-blades. "I never lie, Joe. I'll leave that to   
experts like Luke."  
Joe was a definite shade of green now. "That's… how the fuck did you survive?"  
Toby gave a small half-smile, tucking his shirt back in. "I can run very fast."  
"But.. couldn't you, like, slice them up with… those?" Joe indicated Toby's claws. He sighed.  
"I've only just learned to be the littlest bit proud of what I am. I used to be so ashamed that I bit my claws off every   
day and every night, because they'd just grow back otherwise. Even tried to cut the points off my ears when I was   
little, but I passed out from losing too much blood, and when I woke up, they'd started to heal anyway. No, basically   
I kept a low profile, didn't talk at all cos of my whacko voice, and ran away at every opportunity."  
Toby watched with sympathy as the larger boy's illusions of a small safe world shattered. "I'm so sorry, man," Joe   
choked. "I really had no idea…"  
Toby shrugged. "We got sport this afternoon. Everyone's going to find out in the locker room anyway. Just   
remember this: Never, ever call me mutie again. 'Only bigots assign labels'," he quoted Mister Hank. "An' I reckon   
you ain't a bigot."  
"You bet," said Joe hoarsely. "Sorry again, Toby."  
"Stop being sorry for a while and start looking at the way you treat people," suggested Toby. "You might enjoy it   
more. I know I hate being sorry – it usually means I've been caught."  
They both laughed at that. "C'mon," said Joe after a short pause. "Let's go shoot a few hoops before class."  
Joe Waldi turned out to be a first-class athlete, one of the best in the school. Unfortunately, he fit the 'stupid jock'   
persona perfectly, because he was absolutely hopeless in his studies. But he was unbendingly honest and very good-  
natured, and Toby discovered himself liking him. Joe's skill was easily offset by Toby's instincts and speed, and   
despite their initial inclination to distrust each other, they eventually found themselves having a great time.  
"He shoots… and he scores! The crowd goes wild, as star shooter Joe F. Waldi wins the game!" said Joe   
triumphantly as he made another perfect shoot.  
"I can't hear anyone going wild," teased Toby, and Joe grinned at him.  
"They will one day, believe me. I'm gonna be the best ever."  
"Well, I'll bet you're the best in the school anyway. Give the ball here!" Joe passed it, and Toby dribbled it to the   
other end of the court. "Newcomer Toby Creed puts the star through his paces now… oh, nice dodge! And a roar   
goes up as he feints the keeper… Ow!" Toby had overbalanced, dodging Joe, and scraped the skin off his elbows.  
"You okay, man?" Joe pushed his lanky hair out of his eyes and looked at him in concern. "Didn't mean to block you   
like that… forgot you're not really a player…"  
Toby inspected the grazes. "It'll be gone in an hour. Don't worry about it."  
"How fast do you heal exactly?" Joe's tone was curious, and Toby grimaced.  
"Not as fast as I should, but it'll get there as I get older, apparently. Cuts as deep like them on my back won't be   
completely gone until sometime next week, but a little cut like this will hardly take anything."  
Joe flopped down on the ground next to Toby. "So that's your mutant power? Healing?"  
"Well, yeah, that, my claws, enhanced hearing, eyesight and smell, plus my voice. But I don't know exactly what   
that can do yet."  
"Sounds good though. You actually had me sniffing, an' Miss Chappell was leaking like a busted tap," grinned Joe,   
and Toby grinned back.  
"I made the star shooter get the sniffles? That'll do hell to your reputation, you know," he teased.   
"Aw, shut up," said Joe good-naturedly.   
"Well, what do we have here?" came a voice from off the court. "You become a mutie-lover all of a sudden, Joe?"  
Joe stiffened as Luke and his cronies sauntered towards them. "Oh… shit."  
"Don't worry. I'll handle it," whispered Toby. "Actually, Joe just bet me a game of basketball. Thrashed me, too.   
Guess I wasn't as good as a pure-blood human after all," he said loudly, meeting Luke's eyes.   
"Hope you learned your lesson then, gene trash," sneered Luke. "You shouldn't even be allowed on the court. Why   
was Joe grinning when he was talking to you then?"  
Toby displayed his grazed elbows. "I fell. Couldn't dodge his block quick enough, and overbalanced. Must be my   
inferior mutant legs, huh?" Taste the sarcasm, you bastard! Feel it!  
Luke looked smug that Toby was hurt. "That's just a little taste of what you should get, mutie, for thinking you were   
as good as a normal person."  
Toby found it very hard to keep a hold on his temper just then. "Yeah, I suppose you must be right. Still, I wouldn't   
mind another game sometime… Joe?" He met Joe's eyes, who was looking at him with a kind of awe mingled with   
indignation.  
"It's your funeral, mutie," smirked Luke, before swaggering away, laughing. Toby held out a hand to haul Joe to his   
feet.  
"You didn't have to do that, Toby!" he said, half thankful, half accusing.  
Toby shrugged. "Didn't cost me anything. And that idiot wouldn't know sarcasm if it gave him a wedgie. Plus, he's   
your friend. I didn't think I should really spoil that."  
"You're beyond decent, man," said Joe gratefully. Toby laughed.  
"No charge. But I'm gonna thrash your butt next time!"  
"We'll see about that," said Joe with some asperity, before grinning. "They're watching. I better go join 'em."  
Toby raised an eyebrow slyly. "Push me over before you go. See if you can't be a first rate actor as well as hoop-  
shooter."  
Joe grinned. "Take that, mutie scum!" he declared verbosely, pushing Toby to the ground, where he made some   
show of falling heavily.  
"Oh! You evil unenlightened flatscan you!" laughed Toby, and Joe winked before running off to his   
sniggering friends.  
"Toby?" it was Andy Zhang, who scowled at Joe's back. "What was that for, you big bully?"  
"No, Andy – it's not what you think," said Toby hurriedly as Andy helped him get up. "Joe and I are friends now.   
We were just pretending for the benefit of those idiots."  
Andy didn't look convinced. "I saw him push you…"  
"I told him to. Oh, come on, Andy! No-one'll push me unless I let them!" he held up his hands and wiggled his   
fingers suggestively.  
"I s'pose," said Andy reluctantly. "Hey! You're bleeding!"  
"It'll be okay. I slipped when we were playing basketball." Toby gave the grazes a glance, before brushing himself   
off. "Anyone else here yet?"  
"Susie and Tom are over near the bike stands, and…" Andy suddenly looked a little embarrassed.  
"Oh. Well, I don't suppose we should interrupt them," said Toby delicately. "Bell's about to go off anyway. What   
have we got first?"  
Andy grimaced. "Math."  
"Oh shit." Toby winced. Mr. Thompson, this early in the morning, was not a pleasing prospect. "Well, it had to   
happen sooner or later."  
"But he totally hates you! How can you be so… so…"  
"I've had worse," he brushed it off. "Plus I was pretty good at math. He won't find anything to complain about. I'll   
make sure of that."  
  
  
On the contrary, Thompson found everything wrong, but not necessarily with Toby's work. His hair was too scruffy,   
his shirt not tucked in properly, and the fast-healing grazes were the target of many a vindictive, sour glance. Toby   
found himself sweating under the pressure and waiting nervously for the bell. His general disquiet was not helped by   
the itching grazes or the fact that Thompson directed every second question at him. He was very sick of 'Creed!'   
being bellowed out by that nasal tenor, and growled under his breath. Luke, Vanessa and Jim, who were all giggling   
over his discomfiture, all stopped when they heard that. In fact Thompson himself hesitated as the growl echoed   
throughout the room. Toby looked embarrassed that his emotions had got the better of his self-control, and dipped   
his head.  
"Creed!" Thompson glared at him after the hesitant pause. "What was that?"  
"Nothing, sir," he mumbled.  
"Nothing? I distinctly heard," he savored the word, "a snarl. The mutie's going to turn on the teacher who's kindly   
deigned to teach the little scumbag, hmm?"  
Toby looked startled at that. "Absolutely not, sir!"  
Thompson held his eyes to the accompaniment of Luke's sniggering. "Remember – any excuse, Creed," he   
murmured. "Now, tell me the answer to number 14a."  
Gabby's large eyes were flashing when they got out of math with relief. "That man should be illegal!" she stormed.   
"He has no right to treat you like that!"  
"Shh, Gabs," soothed Toby. "It's okay. I'll talk to Mr. Harding about it at recess."  
She brightened. "That's a good idea. Maybe he'll fire him, or get him arrested for harassment, or--"  
"I just think he ought to know, that's all," said Toby quietly. "He said he wanted to know about any trouble I had."  
"Mr. Harding's a real decent type," said Tom decisively. "Oh damn… we got English now."  
Toby looked around at the irritated faces. "What?"  
"We're doing Shakespeare's Othello at the moment," explained Susie in her quiet voice. "And Mr. Wallace insists   
on acting it out."  
"But don't we already do drama?"  
"Yeah, but ole Wally insists. Says it'll help us understand it better," said Tom.  
Toby shook his head. "He sounds nuts."  
"He's a good enough sort – just so…"  
"Enthusiastic," said Gabby in a doleful tone. "I like acting, but I don't really want to play a main part at school. I'd   
be so embarrassed."  
Toby could think of much more embarrassing things than playing a role in Othello. "I wouldn't mind. Haven't parts   
been given out yet?"  
"Nope, and I wish it'd stay that way," said Tom sourly. "I hate acting."  
Toby considered that. In a strange way, he'd been acting all his life, hiding who and what he was in the desperate   
attempt to appear 'normal'. They filed into the classroom and took up their seats, waiting for the appearance of the   
teacher.  
Mr. Wallace wasn't like any other teacher in the whole school. He seemed larger than life and twice as loud, with a   
large paunch, a long, pointed nose, and a verbose, resonant voice with an English accent. His iron-grey hair was   
tortured into a bouffant, but despite his uncommon, even humorous appearance, his light blue eyes were very sharp.   
"Greetings and salutations to you, class!" he boomed as he strolled into the room.  
"Good morning Mr. Wallace!" chorused the class.   
"And how are we all on this overly windy, albeit warm morning?" There was a chorus of murmuring from the class.   
"Enunciate! Speak clearly! Utilize the English language!" he roared at them, and they sat up straighter.  
"Just fine, sir!"  
"Doing good, sir!"  
"I got a cold, sir!"  
"Okay, sir!"  
"Much better," he said grandiosely. He almost seemed to deflate as his false indignation left him. "I expect we have   
all done the homework set? Yes, no, maybe, none of the above? I will be collecting it at the end of the quote. One,   
two, three!" The class scrambled through their books. Toby sat, feeling helpless, as Wallace struck up a declamatory   
pose and set into Richard the Third's speech from Shakespeare's play.  
"Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer by this son of York!…"  
He finished his quotation in flamboyant style, then clapped his meaty hands together. "Homework! Now!" He strode   
around the room, picking up the hastily proffered pieces of paper. When he reached Toby, his blue eyes narrowed   
under the shaggy grey eyebrows. "Well?" he boomed.  
Toby calmed himself. Don't you dare stammer, Creed! "I only arrived yesterday, Mr. Wallace. I believe I met you   
with the principal during the morning."  
"Ah yes, Tony wasn't it?"  
"Toby, sir. Toby Creed."  
The blue eyes twinkled. "Then let me be the first to heartily welcome you to the beauteous world of the written word,   
and offer you congratulations on getting through yesterday without becoming a shivering, blubbering wreck, Toby   
Creed."  
Toby re-assessed this man. He obviously perceived more than most people did. "Thank you, sir."  
The mercurial man nodded at him, before whirling on his curious class. "NOW! I believe we have some description   
of play to put together?"  
A groan rose up.  
"None of that, you impertinent ignoramuses! I, as you are all aware, am the very soul of fairness and impartiality.   
Therefore, you will write your name on a piece of paper, and as I call the part, I will draw the name from this fine   
example of headwear. Understood?"  
'Yes sir," they chorused.   
"Then let us commence!"  
Toby dropped his name into the hat as chatter rose up around him. Tom's name was written on so small a piece of   
paper, it was unlikely it would be drawn out. He grinned at Toby as he dropped it in.  
"SILENCE! Cease this unseemly natter and strain your ears for your name. And Othello the noble Moor is…" his   
hand dipped into the hat and rummaged dramatically. "… Luke Lightner!"  
Luke looked incredibly smug. Toby gave a mental shrug. What was it to him? But he felt a little disappointed   
anyway – he'd so wanted a main part.  
"Desdemona, she who is fairest of the fair is… no, that's a boy's name… ah! Vanessa Schaeffer!"   
Toby started to wonder if they'd cheated in order to get the plum roles.  
"Amelia, the faithful maid is… Gabrielle Marshall!"  
"Good on you Gabby!" whispered Toby, and Tom, Suzie and Andy grinned at her. Her expression was a cross   
between pleased and mortifyingly embarrassed.  
"Cassio, the handsome… will be Thomas Sheppard!"   
"Oh my gawd…" groaned Tom, sliding down in his seat as the class giggled at his ill fortune.   
"And Iago, the scheming diabolical villain is… Hah!" Wallace's eyes sought and found Toby's. They were dancing   
with an ironic amusement. "Toby Creed."  
  
  
Miss Tweed looked down her hooked nose. "Yes?"  
"Toby Creed, miss, to see Principal Harding," he said softly.  
She checked the schedule, and her face lit up. "I'm dreadfully sorry, young man, but you haven't an appointment.   
Make one, and come back then."  
"Is he busy?" asked Toby a little desperately.  
"The principal is a very busy man. Now get out of my office! Shoo!"  
"But—"  
"Miss Tweed? Who's that out there?" came Harding's cheerful baritone, and Miss Tweed scowled at the boy,   
opening her mouth to answer.  
"It's Toby Creed, sir," said Toby hurriedly.   
"Oh! Send him in, Miss Tweed, do be a dear."  
The look Miss Tweed gave him was positively venomous.  
"Ah, Toby! And how are you faring, young man?" asked Harding as Toby made his way into the office, fidgeting   
anxiously.  
"Pretty good, sir."  
"Any problems so far?"  
"… A couple. I thought I'd better tell you about them."  
"Certainly. Take a seat," Harding took a sip from his coffee cup before looking intently at the boy.  
"Well, it's Mr. Thompson, the math teacher…"  
"I'm acquainted with him, yes," said Harding dryly. "Has that sour old windbag been giving you a hard time, lad?"  
"Well, yes," said Toby, deciding to be frank. "He keeps threatening me, saying that he'll find any excuse to throw   
me out. And he keeps calling me 'mutie scum' and things like that, and when I grumbled a bit, he said I was going to   
attack him or something. Yesterday he threatened me in front of the whole cafeteria. 'Equal opportunities for non-  
human freaks and decent folk…'," he quoted bitterly. "He said I didn't even eat like a civilized being."  
Harding was silent for a time, and when he spoke, his voice was thoughtful. "Edgar Thompson is a particularly   
vitriolic man, especially on the whole subject of mutants. His deceased wife, I believe, is the source of that   
frustration. She died many, many years ago, at the hands of a mutant much like you."  
Toby's mouth was dry. "Sabretooth."  
Harding nodded slowly, his eyes widening as he stared at the boy. "How did you…"  
"My father," hissed Toby, his eyes burning. "Even here, he manages to ruin my life. Even here!"  
"Your father!" Harding was horrified. "I was told you were an orphan!"  
"I was raised as an orphan. My dear, loving father left me to die," spat Toby. "I hate him more than anything in the   
world."  
Harding couldn't say anything, just sat looking at the slight boy with pity, horror and fear in his eyes, as Toby tried   
to get a grip on his roiling emotions.   
"I'm sorry," he said finally, his voice under control.  
"So, my dear boy, am I," said Harding softly. "I will speak to Thompson, but I won't tell him who your father was. It   
will only exacerbate his hatred."  
"Thank you sir. Oh, a couple of the kids are at it too," said Toby, now a little ashamed of his outburst. The subject of   
Victor Creed was, with him, a ticking bomb.  
"I expected that. Who?"  
"Luke Lightner and the Group," replied Toby. "They're spouting anti-mutant propaganda everywhere I go."  
Harding's eyes crinkled into their customary smile. "They're arrogant, that's why. You represent the unknown for   
them, and that is always something to be feared. Especially with a mutation such as yours…"  
"I know, I know," sighed Toby. "Don't worry sir. I'm not my father."  
"Believe me, Toby, I'm very aware of that."  
  
  
"You were right, Charles!" Hank bounded down the hall, a read-out in his hand,  
"Hank?"  
"You were right, you were right! The mutation innate in Toby's mental synapses and vocal chords was inherited   
from his mother!" Hank danced a little dance of glee. "Viva la genius!"  
"Hank, calm down!" said the professor, but he was laughing as the blue furred scientist bounced from wall to ceiling   
to couch to desk in his exuberance. "Why are you so excited?"  
Hank held up one blue finger. "Because, my dear follicle-challenged mentor, in Toby, the mutations have   
amalgamated! They aren't separate! Toby can manipulate any sound around him, and use that sound to increase the   
effectiveness of any other mutation!"  
"Good god!" gasped Charles. "That's… unheard of!"  
"Isn't it just?" Hank went back to his bouncing, clicking his enormous heels as he turned on the palm of one hand.   
"Toby's going to be thrilled!"  
"How come? I mean, he's not too thrilled about anything to do with his mutation…"  
"But it'll allow him to heal twice as fast as Wolverine! No more scars!" Hank finally stopped his bouncing, settling   
in his customary crouch on the edge of the sofa. "He could even cast illusions with it…"  
"…sort of like an inbuilt image inducer," finished Charles. "Toby's voice seems to be an extraordinarily powerful   
thing, Hank."  
Hank sobered. "Oh, it is," he agreed fervently. "Believe me. I think we'd better get that boy in training as fast as   
possible, before he overloads someone's mind with it or something."  
"He could do that?" Charles was startled.  
"Easily, professor. That voice can replicate and manipulate emotions, detect and utilize sound waves, cast illusions   
and increase his other powers. All it would take is the right frequency."  
  
  
"Sport after lunch," announced Tom dolefully, his mouth full. "I hate sport."  
"You're lazy, that's why," said Gabby archly. She'd wriggled her way under Toby's arm again, and it wasn't too   
uncomfortable. It still made him blush, though.  
"I know," grinned Tom. Andy snorted.  
"Know what we'll be doing?" asked Toby.  
"Probably a game of football again. Hey! I bet you'll be really good at it!" said Tom, his eyes brightening. "That   
means even less effort for me!"  
"Lazybones," said Susie in her quiet, teasing way, her blonde hair falling across her features.  
Tom shrugged. "It's simply making the most of the situation. And that's assuming I'm even on Toby's team."  
"Why wouldn't you be?"  
"Cos they pick two people to be team captains, and they pick people to be in their teams. It's a pain," said Tom with   
irritation.   
"Only cos you get picked last," said Andy.  
"Just cos you're good at sport…!" said Tom hotly, and Andy made an impudent face at him.   
"Boys!" said Gabby, her eyes rolling.  
They traipsed off to their change-rooms after the bell to get into their sports uniforms. Toby felt very uncomfortable   
as he unbuttoned his shirt. Most of the other boys were a bit curious to see what a mutant actually looked like when it   
didn't look like a boy in a school uniform. I don't have scales or a tail, you idiots! Getting sick of the stares, he   
whipped off his shirt and turned around to glare accusingly at them.  
"There! Happy now? That's what a mutant looks like under his shirt!" He turned his back on them and heard the   
collective gasp as they read the cruel message etched there.   
"Oh my god…"  
"I think I'm going to be sick…"  
"Who could do that?"  
"They're all over him!"  
"I think it serves him right," said one familiar voice loudly, and Toby gritted his teeth. This farce was beginning to   
pall. A slight red tinge seemed to overlay his thoughts, making it hard to keep his temper.  
"Get lost, Lightner," he said without turning around, rummaging in his bag for his sport shirt.   
"Now, why should I do that?" Luke drawled. "After all, I'm the human here."  
"Yeah, you're the human talking to a very irritated mutant who incidentally owns inch-long claws," ground out   
Toby. "As you can see, I've endured a lot worse than your stupid attitude."  
"And I suppose you think that makes you special," hissed Luke. The pretense of being superior and aloof was gone   
now. "You're such a brave, tough mutie, seen it all…"  
"I was scared out of my mind, Luke," said Toby quietly. The red fog in his mind dissolved as he gained ascendancy   
over his roiling emotions. He just wanted this idiot as far away as possible. "I could have died, but I want to live.   
And an arrogant little bastard like you isn't going to change that." He shrugged on his sport shirt, before finally   
turning around to face him. "Well? Have you got any more stupidities to say to me?"  
Luke glared at him. Toby stared coolly back, his blue eyes like ice. Dimly, he realised he was taller than Luke by a   
little, but the other boy was heavier. "You'll get yours, Creed!" he threatened, but he was all bluster, and the whole   
change-room knew it.   
"Everyone does," he replied calmly. "I'm ready for it. Question is, are you?"  
Luke fumed, his face black as a thundercloud. Toby raised an eyebrow at his dumbstruck audience. "Bad-tempered,   
isn't he?' he said mildly, and the room erupted into nervous laughter.   
"Shut up!" yelled Luke, but a big hand closed on his shoulder.   
"No, you shut up," said Mr. MacIntyre, the Australian sports master. "I just watched that fascinating little exchange,   
and came to my own conclusions. Lightner, you've got detention under Miss Tweed this afternoon." The sunburned,   
wiry, usually cheerful man scowled at the boy. "Think about what you just said to this boy here. Prejudice is an ugly   
thing, mate."  
"But sir…" Luke's face was astonished. "… I didn't do…"  
"No buts."  
"… Sir, he's not even human! You can't…"  
"What?" exploded Toby. "I am too!"  
"Quiet, you. I'll handle this." MacIntyre clenched his fists. "Everyone's human, Lightner. Except possibly anyone   
with that kind of attitude. Detention for the rest of the week. No ifs, buts or ands. An' I won't take no excuses.   
Well?"  
The boy sounded like a kettle boiling over, he was spluttering that much.  
"I'm waiting."  
Lightner looked as if he was going to erupt. "Yes sir."  
"Good. Now get." The teacher turned to Toby as Luke stalked away with jeering faces pressed in on him. "How'd   
you get them scars, kid?" he asked gently.  
"Orphanage, sir," he said. "I got adopted last week." Well, it was broadly true, really…  
"An' what was that about claws I heard?"  
Toby pulled off a glove. "These, sir."  
"Holy Hannah! That's some equipment!" MacIntyre whistled under his breath, touching the index claw. "Sharp too.   
Your name?"  
"Toby Creed, sir. I met you yesterday."  
"That's right, Richard came and talked to me about you. You handled that snotty little rich boy very well, but let the   
people in authority do the dirty work son. Now, hurry up an' get changed, Toby. I want to see everyone out in the   
field in five minutes!" he raised his voice. "Move it!"  
  
  
Toby was pleasantly exhausted come home-time. He'd been picked to be on Chris Campbell's team pretty much   
first, and had been run off his feet since then. The game had been hot and hectic, involving a lot of shouting and   
falling down. It had made more than a few people envious, the way his scrapes and bruises disappeared without a   
trace. As Tom had told him, he was picked almost last, and stood around doing just about nothing, while Toby ran   
around like a mad thing. He'd won the game for them too.  
"Hey, Tobster!" It was Jubilee. "How's yer day?"  
"Okay," he said seriously. "I got some evil anti-mutant people on my case, but the teachers got rid of 'em."  
"Good." She ruffled his hair as they made their way to the gates of the school where Logan waited. "I had a great   
day. There's this totally gorgeous guy…" And Toby listened politely to Jubilee waxing enthusiastic about her   
gorgeous guy until they reached the gate, where she lost her train of thought to a squeal. "Oh Wolvie!"  
Toby blinked. Next to Mister Logan were two brand-new shiny bicycles. One was motorized, the other, smaller one   
wasn't, but both looked state of the art.   
"Surprise, kids," he said, grinning at their astonishment.   
"Oh my gawd!" Jubilee ran her hand over the leather of her bike. "Wolvie, this is great! How'd you convince ole   
man Xavier…?"  
"Actually, he told me to get you two somethin' to get to school an' back on. I took it from there," he smirked, and   
was rewarded by Jubilee's arms being thrown about his neck.  
"Thank-you so, so much, Mister Logan!" Toby swung one leg over his bike. It had eighteen gears. "Oh, wow!"  
"Glad you like it. Jubes, that's the most powerful thing you can have without it bein' illegal, so make sure you take   
care of it!"  
"No need to ask, dude," she breathed, sitting down and running her hands over the handlebars.   
"Then let's go!" Logan kicked his motorbike into gear and streaked ahead, before Jubilee and Toby could follow.   
But he didn't go so fast that they couldn't keep up, and Toby's athleticism naturally compensated for the lack of a   
motor. But he was doubly fatigued by the time they got home, propping his bike in the garage before collapsing in   
the rec room.  
"You look tired, kiddo," commented Logan, popping a claw to pry open a beer bottle.  
"A bit," he admitted. "We had sport this afternoon. Football. We won, too," he added proudly.  
Logan laughed. "You'll have to talk to Hank about the game then. He was a star player. Still, that brings up   
somethin'' else Chuck told me to talk to you about…"  
"Yeah?" Toby cocked his head curiously.   
"Yeah. We reckon you oughta get some training in, while yer still young enough to control yer powers. See, Blue   
was running through yer blood sample again to analyze yer voice. Seems it's way more powerful, way more   
dangerous, than we knew. So you gotta learn to control it."  
Toby swallowed. "Oh. What can it do?"  
"Apparently, you can control emotive responses, create illusions, an' boost yer other powers. So every time you sing,   
yer other powers- hearing, smell, sight, an' yer healing factor – get that much stronger."  
Toby was incredulous. "I can do all that?"  
"Not just yet. We gotta teach you how." Logan scratched at his side reflectively. "You free say, tonight?"  
Toby's answering grin was immediate.  
  
  
Wolverine was surprised at exactly how fast the boy caught on, but perhaps he shouldn't have been at that, he mused.   
The boy's size and inexperience was offset by his instinct and incredible agility, and he seemed to make important   
tactical decisions effortlessly. The basic training program he had loaded into the danger room was too easy within an   
hour, and he stepped up the pressure slightly. Now, instead of one faceless opponent, there were two, and they were   
both armed with swords. Logan didn't really expect the boy to win this one, but it would be interesting to see…  
Toby narrowed his eyes as his attackers appeared, his claws flexing. Their swords easily had the reach of him, so he   
would have to rely on his speed and agility rather than the cutting edge, so to speak. He whirled as one made a   
vicious swing for his head, dropping to his knees and swiping across one digital leg. Four claw marks wavered across   
the pixels before he rolled away from the sword coming down on him, nimbly gaining his feet again and going for   
the second figure's face.  
Good boy, thought Logan approvingly. That's exactly what I would have done.  
He slashed briefly at a forehead, letting phantom blood obscure his opponent's eyesight, before ducking the other's   
sword which ran straight through the blinded figure. It disappeared in a flash of holo-light before Toby had thrust his   
claws through the other's chest, while its sword was still outstretched. It imploded also, and Toby sank to the ground,   
panting and sweating.   
Logan smiled slyly as he punched in more buttons. Well then, if that's the way you wanna play, boy…  
Abruptly three figures materialized around Toby, who sprang to his feet warily. These weren't the ones he'd been   
put up against before – these were astonishingly diverse, half-machine, half-mutant. Their forearms were long,   
spinning, razor-sharp blades, and their faces metallic blank masks. Holy shit!  
"Logan, what are you doing?"  
"Hush, Jeannie. It's in the nature of an experiment."  
One stalked towards him on stiff metal legs, its arms spinning furiously. He dodged, before launching himself with a   
catlike snarl at its fleshy back, dragging his hands down. The cyborg gave a tortured electronic whine, trying to   
shake the tormentor off, but its arms couldn't reach behind it. Toby closed his eyes tightly, and rammed a hand   
through its neck, and sparks flew as the machine creaked and died. He jumped clear before it collapsed as the other   
two caught up with him, and he dropped into a ready half-crouch, his mind ticking over.  
  
  
  
I think you should come and see this. Now.   
They obviously couldn't move as fast as him. Their necks were a weakness, and their torsos, but they had learned   
from the first cyborg's mistake, and were back-to-back now, circling slowly as they advanced. So he'd have to try a   
frontal attack, or separate them somehow…  
His roving eyes fell on the ruin of the first cyborg.   
"He isn't moving. He's just letting them advance! Logan…!"  
"I said zip it, Drake! An' that goes fer the peanut gallery too. He's got a plan. I know that look."  
"But Wolvie…"  
"Shh, darlin'. Is that popcorn?"  
"Yeah. Want some?"  
They were almost where he wanted them. Assuming he was strong enough to pull this off, of course. If not, he'd be   
trapped under that heavy metal exoskeleton ripe for the carving.   
One metal-shod foot stepped onto the fallen cyborg. Almost there…  
Two feet now, moving jerkily and stiffly as non-existent electronics whirred. Faster than his audience could follow,   
Toby launched himself out of his ready position to lift up the fallen cyborg, and by extension to neatly flip that   
machine standing on its fallen comrade onto its back. Its limbs were far too stiff for it to stand, so it flailed helplessly   
on its back while the last upright cyborg stalked after the boy, who looked very small as it advanced.  
"Oh, that was well done…"  
"I said shut up, hairball!"  
"Hairball?! You are calling me…"  
"Just be quiet, Hank. I think he's got money riding on this."  
Toby launched himself at the cyborg. The face was no good, just a smooth plane of metal, but those deadly   
forearms… if he could sever them at the elbows, he'd put it out of attack. Slicing at its neck and torso, he tried to get   
in close enough, only to be deterred by those whirling blades. That red haze began to overlay his mind again, making   
it hard to think, and his senses seemed sharper somehow, heightening by his exasperation. He wasn't tall enough,   
and didn't have enough reach to inflict enough damage to slow it down, and it was resolutely keeping its back to   
him. His irritation mounted. Growling in frustration, he plunged one hand straight at its chest, and was incredibly   
surprised when it connected. A blade sliced across his arm weakly, drawing blood as he tightened his grip, but he   
ignored it, steadfastly squeezing the mass of flesh and electronics that sparked in his fist. The red mist was   
coalescing now, filling his nostrils with the stench of blood unshed. When the cyborg had slowed sufficiently, he   
sharply pulled his fist out, bringing a mass of guts and wires with it, before slicing away at the elbows, and yanking   
off the dangerous arms. The cyborg was fighting a losing battle now, as he drew his hand back and plunged it   
through the neck. More sparks, and he managed to disentangle himself from the mass of wires before it collapsed.   
One left. The red smog guiding him, he stalked over to where the last cyborg struggled furiously to get up, moving   
towards its head, out of the reach of the blades. He directed his diamond drill gaze into that silver mask upside-down,   
lowering into a crouch and cocking his head. There was no sound for an indeterminable span of time before he struck   
like a cobra, plunging his claws straight through that expressionless face. He could feel them scraping the Danger   
Room floor as they punctured bone, and he used his other hand to slice a line across its neck. Blood and acid poured   
out, and he pulled his hands away, spilling computer cards, brain matter and bone chips. Its head made an awful   
sucking sound as his hand came free, then collapsed in on itself. Sickened, he staggered weakly away from the   
carnage he had wrought, and fought not to retch uncontrollably. There was blood all over his hands.  
"Ladies an' gentlemutants, we have a winner!" crowed Logan up in the control room, as half the assembled X-Men   
cheered and half looked more worried than before.   
  
  
"He's… a little sick," said Jean delicately. "He really didn't take that well. You should have let him work up to that,   
Logan."  
Wolverine said nothing, and she knew that was all the apology she was going to get.  
"He'll be okay?" fretted Rogue.  
"Well, after paying his respects to the porcelain throne, he'll be fine. I think he's a little shocked that he can actually   
do… that… to something."  
"I know I was," murmured Warren. "He fights like a veteran."  
"He fights like his father," whispered Betsy. It was the thought they had all tried not to voice up until now.  
"Betsy…" began Jean weakly.  
"I know," said a soft voice from the door. Toby looked pale and his face was tinged with a hideous self-loathing. He   
leaned heavily against the doorframe, swaying a little.   
"You okay, honey?" asked Rogue quickly, her eyes filled with worry as he moved into the room, his shoulders   
clenched and the muscles along his jaw tensing.   
"I'll be okay, miss Rogue," he said softly, but there was something haunted in his eyes as he sat down on the floor.   
No-one tried to touch him.  
"You sure don't look okay, kiddo," said Bobby. "You wanna talk about it?"  
Toby raised his head to pin him with his eyes. "No."  
There was a long, uncomfortable silence.  
In fact, Toby wished with every molecule of his being that it had never happened. He had emerged from that bestial   
fog to find himself covered in blood, with the sounds of the tortured metal dying all around him, ringing in his   
sensitive ears. He had done that. A half-grown boy. He had taken their lives away, no matter the fact that they were   
cleverly designed pixels dancing on a screen of light. It wasn't something he particularly wished to dwell upon, but   
his mind was still reeling in horror, returning to that bland, accusing, silver mask caving in under his claws, and the   
sickening, repulsive, and yet glorious feel of the brain matter spilling from between his fingers.   
Someone cleared their throat, and his eyes rose to look full into the face of Mister Professor. His expression was sad,   
and yet somehow approving. "I think we'd like to be alone for a bit," he said mildly, and the small group of X-Men   
began to leave, Bobby throwing curious glances behind at them.  
"Yes, Mister Professor?" There was a dullness in Toby's usually vibrant choral voice that chilled Charles.   
"Shut the door please, Bobby," said Charles without turning around. "And please don't try to eavesdrop on a telepath   
– it's a little futile."  
The door closed, and Toby's enhanced hearing detected a huff of annoyance. Charles smiled.   
"Iceman is the keeper of the grapevine, you see," he explained. "It's astonishing how much information that young   
man assimilates. He could be a fantastic spy, if he didn't play so many tricks."  
Toby smiled briefly. "I suppose."  
Charles scratched his bald scalp with a preoccupied expression. "I suspect the greatest stumbling block you will have   
is that you can't control yourself yet. We'll have to work on that."  
Toby appeared startled. "What?" His voices cracked, splitting octaves.  
"I was afraid you might have it in you," said Charles gently. "The killing rage. Logan sometimes calls it the animal   
inside."  
Toby nodded slowly. "I've heard him. He's got it, and so does my pa."  
"And you are afraid of this berserker rage," said Charles shrewdly, his eyes very sharp. "You are afraid now, because   
you can do this without thinking about it."  
Toby's eyes squeezed shut. "Yes," he said in a very small voice. "And I'm afraid that I'll be just like him."  
"Well, you needn't worry about that," replied Charles in so casual a manner that Toby's eyes snapped open to stare   
at him. "Sabretooth never felt sorry for his victims. You're almost incapacitated by your remorse for something that   
was never really alive. I believe that makes you very different indeed."  
Toby pondered that. "Good," he said finally.  
"Quite," agreed Charles. "Furthermore, Victor Creed finds the blood and the carnage exhilarating – ecstatic even. He   
relishes every blow, every bite, every thrust. You find it repugnant, despite being somewhat of a prodigy."  
"But what about that fog?" blurted out Toby. "It was like instead of listening to the instinct, it just took over…"  
"Ah yes…" Charles rubbed his eyes. "That, I fear, is a whole new situation. You must control yourself, every fight   
you are in – even when you are simply angry – so that the rage will not overcome you. I feel Logan's training may   
help you there. We will have to make sure that you can respond to your instincts but not to the extent where they take   
over. You must be able to fight with reason, experience and intelligence, not animal passion."  
"And how can I do that?"  
  
  
"Okay then," Logan sighed. "Let me get this straight."  
It was eleven thirty in the evening. Toby was asleep, but the whole mansion was curious as to what would be done   
about the boy. Charles had been arguing, lecturing and pleading all at once, imploring the more stubborn or   
antagonistic X-Men to hear the boy's case. Warren was bristling, Cable was surly and skeptical, and Betsy was torn   
with indecision. Surprisingly, Gambit staunchly defended the boy even against the openly hostile Bishop.  
Logan rubbed a hand through his hair, digging the nails over his scalp. "Toby does have the berserker rage. But he   
hates it, an' wants to control it, an' fer that he needs my help? Me? Remember, the guy who can lose it quicker than a   
bear with a hernia? Chuck, the only person who can help him through this is himself."  
"But can't you teach him like you did Kitty?" pleaded Rogue, her eyes impassioned.  
Logan gritted his teeth. "I never meant to have to teach Kitty. That was a consequence of Ogun takin' over her mind.   
I needed to strengthen her defenses against him, before she was lost forever. With Toby, it's a different matter."  
"How? How's it different, homme?" demanded Remy angrily. "You sayin' you can teach Shadowcat but not de   
boy?"   
He scowled. "I never said that. I can't teach him to control the animal: he's got to figure out his own way o' doin' it.   
But I can help him find that way."  
"This isn't satisfactory, Wolverine," warned Bishop. "That is not a guarantee that he won't go the same way as   
Victor Creed."  
"You think I don't know that?" snapped Logan, pacing towards the XSE officer furiously. "But it's all the   
reassurance I can give you. I know the telepaths ain't gonna risk driving him nuts by rearranging his head."  
Charles sighed. "Absolutely not. Still, Toby is vastly different from his father – he shows more compassion for a trio   
of lifeless holograms than Sabretooth has ever displayed in his entire known life."  
"An' beyond," muttered Logan sourly. "Damn Team X, the stupid maniac…"  
"I am confident that your fears are unfounded," said Charles, raising his voice slightly over Wolverine's mutterings.   
"And the boy doesn't need any more complications or hostility in his life. I understand that it is hard enough for him   
to cope at school without having half his home mistrust him for something he doesn't know how to control."  
"Well, that's the thing, isn't it," said Cable flatly. "Control. Logan reassures us that Toby will find his own control,   
and you second that. But I never knew we had an unspoken precognitive ability drifting about in the team."  
Charles closed his eyes. "And nor do we. But I will take it on good faith that Logan knows what he's doing-"  
"Damn straight."  
"-and that Toby has the strength. It is up to us to support him. He is, after all, only a boy."  
Cable scowled, but said nothing. Warren's statuesque, sullen features were locked in stasis, and Betsy's expression   
hovered between implacable determination and fear. Bishop leaned forward in his seat.  
"A boy, Xavier, who managed to achieve in two hours something that took me, a trained and battle-tested XSE   
officer, a month to accomplish."  
Charles flushed slightly. "What would you have me do, Bishop? Turn the boy out for a facet of his nature that he is   
too young, to inexperienced to control?"  
Bishop's eyes narrowed. "No, I didn't say that…"  
"You didn't need to," replied Charles curtly, and his hover-chair floated from the room.  
Bobby let out an explosive breath. "You know, Bish ole buddy, if it weren't for my irrational fear of being shot to   
pieces, I'd be calling you an arsehole right now."   
  
  
Hank sat alone in his laboratory. His mind was occupied with the sight of claws plunging through a silver mask, an   
anguished pair of blue eyes below a mop of flyaway blond hair. His forehead creased as he pivoted out of his chair,   
measuring a sample and moving to a bench. He examined the sample thoughtfully, then pulled off his glasses and ran   
an impossibly large hand over his face.  
It was late, and he should be asleep. He knew that Bobby would be worrying about him again, but no matter how he   
tried, his thoughts returned to the boy. It was intolerable, the controversy surrounding him. The antagonism was   
palpable, practically tangible. And despite his considerable affection for Toby, he found himself participating in that   
same mistrust, and that was inexcusable.  
Beast was a profoundly moral man. His life and personality had been shaped by the perceptions of the people   
surrounding him, and it pained him to think that he could believe, in some infinitesimally minor way, in the hysteria   
that he found most repugnant. It wasn't the boy's fault. It wasn't anybody's fault, though he found it difficult to   
excuse Sabretooth of his unwitting role in the boy's misery. And it wasn't fair.  
Hank blinked at that last thought. No, nothing much was fair at the moment. But that was somehow acknowledging   
that there was some strange underlying justice to the universe, and Hank McCoy was not the fatalistic type. Fairness   
was where you found it, and the law was always dictated by the strong. And now, with the boy almost incapacitated   
by his misplaced guilt and terrified of his own admittedly alarming nature and power, he could not be counted as one   
of the strong.   
Blast, he thought ruefully. I sound like Apocalypse.   
Coffee, he decided. Coffee and enough sugary treats to give an elephant a coronary would do him good. Hank didn't   
much care what he ate, being militantly indifferent to the needs of his own body. A strange attitude for a doctor, true,   
but his mutant metabolism usually compensated for the Twinkies he ate in inordinate amounts. He resolved, every   
new year, to cut back, but they were just too tempting…  
Giving the blood sample an indecipherable look, he padded his way to the kitchen, his coat swinging around his   
calves. The coffeemaker was still switched on – Cable must be awake as well. That man was practically homicidal   
without his coffee, and mellowed considerably to simply foul-tempered once it was administered like a   
psychological Band-Aid. It was a vast improvement, really.  
He sat forlornly at the table nursing his mug, his intricate thoughts still clamouring within his belabored cranium. In   
a bizarre way, he and the boy had a fair bit in common. Despite the fact that Hank would never, was incapable of   
relinquishing his intellect to the animal rage, they both had strong, physical powers and alarming appearances. Hank   
was easily able to crush a man with one oversized blue fist, so shaking hands had become almost as delicate an   
operation as open heart surgery. But the boy was not responsible for the emergence of his powers, whilst Hank had   
inadvertently increased his own in that abortive experiment. Still, he had received the full support of all his family   
and friends in re-learning to cope. Toby had an aura of mistrust and thinly veiled apprehension, plus his own   
blatantly apparent confusion and fear. Sometimes one forgot that he was only thirteen. His eyes were so much older,   
and he was possessed of a solemn, serious maturity.  
"Poor Toby," Hank whispered. The kitchen was cold and dark. It reflected his mood.  
"Someone there?" a gruff voice asked sharply. Hank started violently, before berating himself. Complacent! Foolish!  
"'Tis but Hank, fellow insomniac," he said wryly, as Cable moved into the meagre light from the hallway. His silver   
hair was a mess, and his eyes were somewhat haunted. "I take it you have been appropriating the midnight oil as   
well, Nathan?"  
Cable only grunted in reply. "If you've touched my blend, I'll kill you."  
"Consider me warned," replied Hank dryly.   
Cable made his coffee with practiced ease, before slumping in the chair opposite Hank. "Why the flonq are you still   
awake?" he asked after a pause.  
Hank sighed. "I cannot seem to stop thinking about our young charge's predicament, and I find my musings are   
beginning to disturb me."  
"Hunh." Cable's haunted look grew more pronounced. "Well."  
"And why is it you are not safely in the arms of Morpheus?" asked Hank after another pause. The other man shifted   
his bulk uncomfortably.  
"Same. I'm not really proud of what I did tonight…"  
"You had the courage to voice your concerns. I do not," pointed out Hank. "And the fact that I may be prejudiced   
against the boy, despite my regard for him, is beginning to make me uneasy. I do not particularly enjoy the prospect   
of becoming a bigot."  
"You?" Cable snorted. "You couldn't become a bigot even if you tried. You're the most open-minded man I know."  
"How I wish that were so," said Hank a little sadly. "But you saw what the boy did. It isn't his fault, and no-one   
could have protected him from it, and yet I find myself harboring an irrational hatred for it. And this from someone   
who saw the X-Men established?"  
Nathan rolled his eye. "Hank, you can like the kid, worry for him, drive yourself nuts trying to help him, but can't   
admit to being concerned that he won't find the control we're so blithely assured he will attain. By Logan, I might   
add."  
"It isn't really the sort of scenario to inspire confidence, is it," said Hank with a slight smile. "So you assume my   
fears of prejudice are simply the apprehension that Toby will not be able to control the bestial side of his nature."  
"Something along those lines, but with shorter words."  
  
  
It was a very subdued young mutant who readied himself for school the next day. Toby, as usual, watched the sunrise   
in his pyjamas before scurrying about at his other tasks. The sun, after all, didn't judge him.   
He could see how uncomfortable they were, see the way their eyes slid from his face. It pained him, and exacerbated   
his irrational guilt, to see their mistrust so blatantly. Would it always be like this? To find a balance, only to be   
betrayed by his own nature?  
Now that he thought about it, that was the entire pattern of his life. He made friends, and then his mutation, or his   
parentage, or his appearance, or his personality, or something turned them away from him.   
Well, he decided petulantly, not any more!  
He knew he was being childish, but surprisingly enough, he didn't care. Toby had never had a stable life, so he had   
never developed the air of self-importance that many pre-pubescent or adolescent young boys had. He'd never had   
that much respect for himself in the first place. So it didn't really offend his sensibilities to feel a little sorry for   
himself.  
But the novelty soon wore off, and Toby found his mood becoming increasingly waspish every time someone gave   
him that nervous, inexplicable look, so he soon took to his bike and sped down to school. There was a certain release   
in feeling the wind through his hair and the road flying under his pedaling feet. His disposition lifted considerably by   
the time he reached the practically deserted grounds.  
"That's one mighty fine piece of equipment ye got there, lad."  
Toby whipped around, pushing his hair away from his eyes. Murphy, the irascible old Irish janitor, was leaning on a   
rake as he watched the boy chain his bike to the rack. "Thanks, sir."  
Murphy snorted. "Ain't no sir. Murphy's me name."  
"Okay. Murphy, then." Toby straightened. "I haven't met you properly yet."  
Murphy shrugged. "Isnae much to know." The wizened man's eyes were sharp. "But I can tell that ye been in some   
strife lately, young mutant."  
Toby raised his eyebrow, inwardly preparing himself for unpleasantness. The janitor chuckled. "Nae, lad. I ain't one   
to bicker. Heard yer voice the other day, an' when I saw ye, thought I might talk to ye."  
Toby relaxed. "Oh."  
"'Tis a fair marvel t' hear, lad. What's yer name?"  
"Toby. Toby Creed." Toby was a little off balance in this conversation. Murphy was generally held in dread by the   
students, his acid tongue and foul temper a source of much careful humour and spite. Toby had the feeling, however,   
that Murphy was far more than just an aging ill-tempered Irishman.  
"Creed, ye say?" The eyes narrowed. "Could ye be a relation to that one who settled Thompson's woman?"  
Toby held those sharp eyes in a sapphire vise. "My father, to my humiliation."  
"Ye be a lad of passing fair eloquence, an' 'tis a shame fate dealt ye this hand. 'Tis not yer fault, me boy," said   
Murphy gently, the tone seemingly misplaced from this irascible old man. "Not yer fault that ye be who ye are."  
Toby said nothing for a pause. "Then whose fault is it?"  
But Murphy was whistling loudly as he raked the leaves, seemingly oblivious to the boy's question.  
His strange conversation with Murphy, if that is what that bizarre interaction could be called, consumed Toby's   
thoughts as he sat musing through History. He was distracted and aloof throughout the class, often startled when the   
teacher, Mrs. Hurst, asked him to answer a question. Finally, the thin bespectacled woman set her book down on her   
desk with a resounding slap. "Toby Creed, if you can't pay attention I shall recommend you to Miss Tweed for a   
detention!"  
"Sorry, Mrs Hurst," he said hurriedly, not particularly thrilled by the idea of spending an hour after school with the   
malicious secretary.   
She sniffed and picked up the book again. "Very well. Keep your mind on your work and stop woolgathering."  
"Yes ma'am!"  
  
  
School assemblies were held on Wednesdays, after the first class. Toby watched in bemusement as the entirety of the   
school filed out into the main quadrangle, chattering loudly. He'd never really realized how small a school this really   
was. They lined up into their classes, turning towards the platform from which the Principal and other assorted   
teachers would address them.  
"All right you lot, quiet!" roared McIntyre, his red face growing redder. The talking subsided as Mr Harding   
approached the microphone. He cleared his throat and shuffled a few papers, before lifting his eyes.  
"Good morning, school," he said.  
"GOOD MORNING MISTER HARDING!" they chorused. It was deafening, and Toby flinched, his hands going to   
his ears. That received him more than a few spiteful looks.   
"Ahem. It has come to my attention that a few students wearing our uniforms have been making a public nuisance of   
themselves on our buses. We've had more than a few complaints now. I will not name names, but should such   
matters continue to occur, I shall take steps." He gave them all a pertinent stare over the tops of his glasses. "The   
results for the mathematics competition are back, and I join with all the staff in congratulating our students. Those   
who received High Distinctions please move to the side of the platform now for the presentation. Also, the Regional   
Athletics Carnival will be held shortly, so tryouts will commence tommorrow. Mr McIntyre will address the   
assembly."  
Harding handed the microphone over to McIntyre with a visible show of relief. "Right!" said the Australian in his   
boisterous way. "Tryouts will be held in your next sport afternoon. If you've got a good reason not to participate, I'll   
want to see a note from your parents, signed by Mr Harding here. Otherwise, you're a potential regional candidate.  
"As you all know, it's been four years since we last won a regional title. Westchester Grammar has been our main   
rival, and they've held the title for three years straight. This year, I want that trophy back. And I expect your fullest   
in enthusiasm an' participation. If you don't compete, you cheer. And the roll will be marked. Thank-you, school!"  
"Thank-you Mister McIntyre," groaned the assembly.  
Tom's face was like thunder. "Aw, shit!" he hissed, drawing some amused looks.  
Harding re-took the microphone. "High Distinctions in the New York Mathematics Competition are: Rachel Abner."   
A girl somewhat older than Toby walked up to the platform, shook Harding's hand, received her certificate and   
walked away to the sound of bored applause. "Hope Billingham…." Toby slouched as a gawky girl with enormous   
glasses received her certificate, preparing for a long wait.  
"…Luke Lightner…"  
Toby's eyes narrowed as the applause grew louder. The Group were cheering madly as Luke sauntered onto the   
stage. Next to Toby, Tom nudged him with an elbow and rolled his eyes.  
"How the hell did that cretin get a prize," asked Toby once the assembly was over and recess announced.   
Andy shrugged. "He's good at math."  
"He cheats," said Suzie darkly.  
"Wouldn't put it past him," said Tom. "Plus old sour-face Thompson loves him. It's insane."  
"What, that anyone could love him?" teased Gabby.  
"That too."  
"I just hope he stays away from me today," said Toby fervently. "I can't get angry."  
Tom looked confused. "Can't? How come?"  
Toby sighed. "I'd rather not say…"  
"C'mon, man, we're you're friends!" implored Andy. "You can tell us anything."  
"Okay," said Toby reluctantly. "But promise me something."  
"Sure."  
"Anything."  
"Shoot."  
"Promise me we'll still be friends after I've told you." Toby's voices cracked again on the last word, and he could   
feel the stares from his friends boring into him.   
"Toberoonie, you know we're not gonna hold nuthin' against you," began Tom.  
"Okay, okay." Toby scratched his head with one gloved claw. "You know those stories of Vikings and stuff who lost   
their head in battle? Went berserk?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Vikings are cool," said Andy, swinging an imaginary sword.  
"If you like really fat women with horns on their helmets," added Gabby. "Go on, Toby."  
"Yesterday, Mister Logan – you know, one of the mutants I live with – he began training me how to fight, and I went   
berserk."  
That silenced even Tom. "Holy Mother of Christ on a piece of toast," swore Andy. He had an overtly religious   
mother, and his oaths were rather complicated.  
"What happened?" asked Gabby soothingly, holding his arm. Toby kept his gaze on the ground.  
"Everything went red, and my instinct took over. I killed the three opponents Mister Logan made me, even though   
they wasn't really alive. But they looked it."  
"Fuck," said Tom hoarsely. "Do you know what this means?"  
"That I could lose it at school and kill the lot of you?"  
"No! That you could kick Lightner's pasty fat ass!"  
  
  
English was next. Toby wasn't too pleased with the prospect of playing out the role of Iago for the class, but he was   
determined to make an effort. He'd read the text, and realized with some asperity the shocking irony. Iago was the   
villain, after all, and Lightner was playing the hero, Othello. He wondered if fate were trying to tell him something,   
but dismissed his gloomy ruminations as a useless waste of time.   
"Beware, my Lord, of jealousy!" he read aloud. "It is the green-eyed monster that doth mock the hand that feeds it."  
"Blue-eyed," smirked Jim Hefner. Joe gave him a sour look.  
Luke was very good at oratory, Toby realized. He had wondered how such an unlikely boy had become the leader of   
the Group, no matter how much money his father made. His voice carried a strong element of confidence and pride,   
and practically conferred leadership upon him. Damn it. Toby sighed a little petulantly, and blinked in surprise when   
the bell rang.  
"You okay?" asked Andy.  
"Sure," said Toby. He didn't feel okay. "Go on. I gotta get my books together."  
The class filed out, chattering enthusiastically. It was lunchtime, and there was a special on at the canteen. Toby   
envied their carefree lives, concerned with nothing more strenuous than the homework due the next day. He picked   
up his text and trudged back over to his desk, where his pencils were strewn in random disarray. Someone had   
written 'die mutie' on his pencil case, and he felt the irrational, red rage swell inside him.  
"Yours is a bitter lot in life," came a resonant voice from behind him. Toby whirled, to see the portly, sharp-eyed   
teacher, Mr. Wallace, looking at him shrewdly. "Yours will be an acid pill to swallow. However, I would try to direct   
my energies to more substantial and profitable causes than beating the tarnation out of those responsible, young Toby   
Creed."  
Toby released his anger slowly, carefully. "You're right, sir." He was a little dismayed at how close he'd come to   
letting it have control.  
Wallace looked briefly towards the space where Lightner had stood. "Think of it this way, lad. Master Lightner will   
walk in his father's footsteps. He will become rich, powerful, well-known and terribly lonely. He won't find anyone   
to satisfy his standards, because he is accustomed to looking down on us all. Whereas you, I find, are more than   
willing to forgive and forget."  
Toby looked surprised. "Me?"  
"You." Wallace's eyes twinkled. "I have a shocking habit of knowing what goes on around here. I am aware of your   
illicit friendship with the genial Giovanni Waldi."  
"Oh! Well…" Toby was somehow embarrassed.   
"Listen to me, lad." Those little blue eyes sparkled knowingly behind the glasses. "I see a strength in you that I have   
only found in little Gabrielle Marshall. It is the strength to overcome your personal demons, to put the past behind, to   
achieve regardless of people's opinions. She moves through the school like a hurricane, righting wrongs, standing up   
to the stronger. You, I feel, will have to do the same on a level unseen. You have some sort of conflict within you,   
and it makes you miserable." Wallace leaned back a little. "I know, because I was in the same situation once. Well, a   
little advice for you, lad. Stand up to it. Laugh at it. Fight it. Let it know that you are aware of it, and it makes it far   
easier. It will never go away, and it may cost you the good wishes of those you hold dear, but never capitulate to it.   
Never relinquish who you are, or your own self-respect to it. And you will find that more and more people will return   
that respect."  
Toby's mouth was dry. "Really?" he said hoarsely.  
Wallace grinned, a surprisingly boyish grin. "Indubitably. You'll see."  
"Thank you," Toby stammered, a little dazed.  
Cocking his bushy white head, Wallace winked at him. "All the thanks I require, my lad, would be a few minutes of   
your time each week. You have a gift for the English language, and that is rarer than any mutation. I think I'd like to   
cultivate it."  
"I… I'd like that, sir," said Toby, astonished to find that he meant it.  
Wallace nodded in satisfaction. "Now, abandon your anger at circumstances beyond your control, and proceed to fill   
your belly!"  
Toby ducked his head and ran from the room, his heart lighter than it had been in years.  
  
  
His obstinate, determined euphoria remained with him throughout the day. Somehow, the combined interactions with   
Murphy and Wallace restored his faith in himself, and made the animal side of him appear conquerable. And he   
refused to allow himself to dwell upon the matter of Lightner – who seemed rather put off at Toby's indifference.   
The black-haired, sallow boy scowled through the day at his own inconsequence. Even Thompson was not able to   
dampen Toby's resolute and persistent need to prove himself equal to the enemy in his own nature.   
The math teacher had started by criticizing Toby's handwriting. Granted, the boy had never had much serious   
schooling, so it was naturally atrocious. But Thompson would hear none of that.  
"I suppose it's because of those claws o' yours, hmm? Can't even hold a pen," he drawled in his nasal tenor. "You   
know, I could get them registered as a weapon. Imagine how people would react, knowing that a fully-armed freak   
was interacting with their children. A massacre waiting to happen."  
"Actually sir, my handwriting's bad because I was never taught properly," said Toby mildly. "I'm sure you could fix   
that for me."  
"The only way to fix that it to chop off those damned claws," hissed Thompson, a vein standing out on his forehead.  
"Tried that," murmured Toby. "I'm afraid it doesn't work. I just have bad handwriting."  
"And a smart mouth," snapped the man. "Detention, Creed. And don't talk back."  
"Me? Perish the thought, sir." Beside him, Gabby was grinning like a rising sun.   
Detention proved to be a small talk with Harding, who sighed and promised to talk with Thompson. Miss Tweed   
pursed her lips at him, but Toby ignored it staunchly, still wrapped in his conviction.   
By the time he arrived home, half the team was off on a mission. The huge house seemed threateningly empty   
without Hank's verbose announcements, Cable's surly comments, or Bobby shouting in panic as a furious Rogue,   
yelling her head off, flew after him. Toby blinked a little and sat down on the threshold. Had it really been a couple   
of weeks since he stood here, shivering, not knowing whether his life was in jeopardy?  
"Tobes?"  
He half-turned before the scent reached him, and smiled. "Hi Jubes. How was school?"  
"Pretty cool, but I better wash up before Wolvie gets back. If he finds out that a guy kissed me, he'll have his   
gonads." Jubilee sat down beside him. "You're lookin' better than you did this morning."  
"Yeah." He picked absently at his thumb-claw. "This morning, I still thought that what happened in the Danger   
Room was somehow my fault."  
She looked aghast. "Toberoonie, you know.."  
"…that I couldn't have controlled it. Yeah, I know," he finished for her. "I didn't even know I could do that. But I   
was still beating myself up about it, an' the way everyone was looking at me…" he shrugged uncomfortably, and she   
put a hand in his back.  
"Chill, dude. They'll deal," she advised. "You know, when we were on some mission in Australia, I let my powers   
go." She squirmed a little. "I blew up almost an entire block. I had no idea I could do that either, an' I don't really   
want to. It's why I keep my pafs as low-voltage as totally possible, y'know?"  
He examined her face, before nodding. "I get it. You're kinda in the same boat, hey?"  
She nodded. "They got used to it after a while – that I could do that sorta stuff. And they'll make the exception for   
you too, after a while – like they do for Wolvie after he goes apeshit. 'Course, you gotta endure the weird looks for a   
few days," she said in a wise tone. "But you should see the way they treat Rogue after she touches someone. Like,   
we are talking plague city."  
"Poor Rogue," he said absently.  
"Yeah. So, anything new happen today?"  
He grinned suddenly, showing his large white canines. "Well… I had a long talk with Mr. Wallace – you know, the   
English master? He's actually really cool, if you can understand what he's saying. He talks way like Mister Hank   
does. He basically told me that the fight I had to worry about was on the inside, and not to worry about the stupid   
things other people say. As long as I fight it, and keep my own good opinion of myself, I'll be okay," he said in a   
softer tone.  
"Sounds good ta me, bub," came a low voice. "By the way, Jubes, what's the lucky boy's name?"  
Jubilee fled as Logan stepped from the foliage, a cigar in one hand. He was wearing his costume, and it was a little   
shredded, but he walked confidently to the stair where Toby was sitting, laughing at Jubilee's consternation. "That   
wasn't nice, mister Logan," Toby chuckled.  
"No-one ever accused me o' nice," grinned Logan. "Sounds like the Wallace fella is pretty observant."  
Toby nodded. "He looks almost like a cartoon character – but he knows what's going on. He could see, somehow,   
that I was fighting something on the inside and outside, and figured the inside was more important."  
Logan dragged on the cigar. "So ya had a good day?"  
"Yeah. Oh, The groundskeeper, Murphy, told me that it wasn't my fault that I was a mutant, basically." Toby   
sobered a little as he remembered that bizarre exchange. "And Gabby kissed me again," he added proudly.  
Logan couldn't help but laugh at that. "Cause ta celebrate, kid."  
"How did the mission go?" Toby inquired as they made to go inside. Logan grimaced, pushing back his mask.  
"Absolutely shithouse. Oh we won," he amended as he noticed Toby's expression, "an' no-one got hurt 'cept the bad   
guys, but some genius had ta shoot me in the head, an' that sent the animal over the edge."  
Toby winced.   
"Yeah," Logan agreed. "Usually, I got it under lock an' key. We are talkin' Fort Knox here – total iron control. But if   
I'm hurt pretty bad or not thinkin' straight or," he grimaced, "dizzy and pissed off from bein' shot in the fuckin'   
head, then it starts to leak a bit. Thank fuck I could rein it back in before I did any real damage."  
"You think of keeping it under control, rather than fighting it all the time?" asked Toby, surprised.  
"Hell, kiddo, I fight all the time just to keep it under control," he laughed grimly. "Wondered once if I could fight it   
right outta my system, but it takes every technique I've learned just to keep it inside its' cage."  
Toby was quiet for a bit. "Could you teach me the techniques?"  
"I was gonna do that anyway," said Logan. "Chuck thought it'd be a good idea. An' don't worry about what the   
others think," his tone surprisingly became gentle. "Wallace is right. You keep yer own good opinion, an' ta hell   
with theirs. They don't need to fight what we do, so what do they know?"  
"…Good point." Toby hadn't considered that. They really didn't have any idea of the strange and snarling fight   
inside his head! They couldn't judge him, because they didn't know what it was like!  
Logan watched the dawning understanding in the boy's eyes with a smile. "The ones that matter will help you   
through. An' once people see that you are more than what they think you are, they'll start to warm up to you."  
"That from experience?" Toby squinted up at the little man.  
"Hell yeah!" 


End file.
